•^. 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


i        . 


7? 


r   L 


MRS.  L.  T.  MEADE 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND 


BY 

MRS.   L.  T.   MEADE 

AUTHOR    9F    "GIRLS    OF   THE   TRUE    BLUE,"    "WILD   KITTY,' 
"A   GIRL   OF   THE   PEOPLE,"   ETC.,   ETC. 


NEW  YORK 
HURST    &    COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Poily,  a  New- 

Fashioned  Girl. 


I«.    T.    MEAPE    SERIES. 

UNIFORM    WITH    THIS   VOLUME. 

BY  MRS,  L.  T.  MEADE. 

Daddy's  Qirl. 
Dr.  Runwy*B  Patient. 
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»irta  of  the  Trae  Bias. 
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Patooe  Beautiful. 


Rebels  of  the  School. 
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books  for  fr.aj. 

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PUBMSHBRS,  Niw   YORK. 


PS 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  RICH  CHARLOTTE. 

THE  room  had  three  occupants,  two  were  men,  the  third 
a  woman.  The  men  were  middle-aged  and  gray-haired,  the 
woman  on  the  contrary  was  in  the  prime  of  youth ;  she  was 
finely  made,  and  well  proportioned.  Her  face  was  perhaps 
rather  too  pale,  but  the  eyes  and  brow  were  noble,  and  the 
sensitive  mouth  showed  indications  of  heart  as  well  as  intel 
lect. 

The  girl,  or  rather  young  woman,  for  she  was  past  nve- 
and  twenty,  sat  by  the  fire,  a  book  on  her  knee.  The  two 
men  had  drawn  chairs  close  to  a  table.  The  elder  of  these 
men  bore  such  an  unmistakable  likeness  to  the  girl,  that  even 
the  most  casual  observer  must  have  guessed  the  relationship 
which  existed  between  them.  He  was  a  handsome  man, 
handsomer  even  than  his  daughter,  but  the  same  individuali 
ties  marked  both  faces.  While,  however,  in  the  woman  all 
was  a  profound  serenity  and  calm,  the  man  had  some  anx 
ious  lines  round  the  mouth,  and  some  expression,  now  com 
ing,  now  going,  in  the  fine  gray  eyes,  which  betokened  a 
long-felt  anxiety. 

The  other  and  younger  man  was  shrewd-looking  anc 
commonplace  ;  but  a  very  close  observer  of  human  nature 
might  have  said,  "  He  may  be  commonplace,  but  do  not  feel 
too  certain ;  he  simply  possesses  one  of  those  faces  which 

r     * 


6  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

express  nothing,  from  which  not  the  cleverest  detective  in 
land  Yard  could  extract  any  secret." 

He  was  a  man  with  plenty  to  say,  and  much  humor,  and 
at  the  moment  this  story  opens  he  was  laughing  merrily  and 
in  a  heart-whole  way,  and  his  older  and  graver  companion 
listened  with  evident  enjoyment. 

The  room  in  which  the  three  sat  bore  evidence  of  wealth. 
It  was  a  library,  and  handsome  books  lay  on  the  tables,  and 
rare  old  folios  could  have  been  found  by  those  who  cared  to 
look  within  the  carefully  locked  bookcases.  Some  manu 
scripts  were  scattered  about,  and  by  the  girl's  side,  on  a 
small  table,  lay  several  carefully  revised  proofs,  and  even 
now  she  was  bending  earnestly  over  a  book  of  reference. 

"  Well,  Jasper,"  said  the  elder  man,  when  the  younger 
paused  for  an  instant  in  his  eager  flow  of  words,  "  we  have 
talked  long  enough  about  that  fine  land  you  have  just  come 
from,  for  even  Australian  adventures  can  keep — I  am  inter 
ested  in  something  nearer  home.  What  do  you  say  to  Char 
lotte  there  ?  She  was  but  a  baby  when  you  saw  her  last." 

"She  was  five  years  old,"  replied  Jasper.  "A  saucy 
little  imp,  bless  you !  just  the  kind  that  would  be  sure  to 
grow  into  a  fine  woman.  But  to  tell  the  truth  I  don't  much 
care  to  look  at  her,  for  she  makes  me  feel  uncommonly  old 
and  shaky." 

"  You  gave  me  twenty  years  to  grow  into  a  woman,  uncle," 
answered  the  pleasant  voice  of  Charlotte  Harman.  "  I 
could  not  choose  but  make  good  use  of  the  time." 

"  So  you  have,  lass — so  you  have ;  I  have  been  growing 
old  and  you  have  been  growing  beautiful  ;  such  is  life ;  but 
never  mind,  your  turn  will  come." 

"  But  not  for  a  long  long  time,  Lottie  my  pet,"  inter 
rupted  the  father.  "  You  need  not  mind  your  uncle  Jasper. 
These  little  speeches  were  always  his  way.  And  I'll  tell  you 
something  else,  Jasper  ;  that  girl  of  mine  has  a  head  worth 
owning  on  her  shoulders,  a  head  she  knows  how  to  use.  You 
will  not  believe  me  when  I  say  that  she  writes  in  this  magi- 
zine  and  this,  and  she  is  getting  a  book  ready  for  the  press  ; 
ay,  and  there's  another  thing.  Shall  I  tell  it,  Charlotte  ?  " 

"  Yes,  father ;  it  is  no  secret,"  replied  Charlotte. 

"  It  is  this,  brother  Jasper ;  you  have  come  home  in  time 
for  a  wedding.  My  girl  is  going  to  leave  me.  I  shall  miss 
her,  for  she  is  womanly  in  the  best  sense  of  the  word,  and 
she  is  my  only  one  ;  but  there  is  a  comfort — the  man  she  is 
to  marry  is  worthy  of  her." 


H(.    i-''  IT  ALL  CAME  RO  UND.  j 

"  And  there  is  another  comfort,  father,"  said  Charlotte  ; 
"  that  though  I  hope  to  be  married,  yet  I  never  mean  to 
leave  you.  You  know  that  well,  I  have  often  told  you  so," 
and  here  this  grave  young  girl  came  over  and  kissed  her 
father's  forehead. 

He  smiled  back  at  her,  all  the  care  leaving  his  eyes  as 
he  did  so.  Uncle  Jasper  had  sprung  impatiently  to  his  feet, 

"  As  to  the  lass  being  married,"  he  said,  "  that's  nothing ; 
all  women  marry,  or  if  they  don't  they  ought  to.  But  what 
was  that  you  said,  John,  about  writing,  writing  in  a  printed 
book  ?  You  were  joking  surely,  man  ?  " 

"  No,  I  was  not,"  answered  the  father.  "  Go  and  show 
your  uncle  Jasper  that  last  article  of  yours,  Charlotte." 

"  Oh,  heaven  preserve  us !  no,"  sa.d  uncle  Jasper,  back 
ing  a  pace  or  two.  "  I'm  willing  with  all  my  heart  to  be 
lieve  it,  if  you  swear  it,  but  not  the  article.  Don't  for  heaven's 
sake,  confront  me  with  the  article." 

"  There's  nothing  uncommon  in  my  writing  for  magazines, 
Uncle  Jasper ;  "  a  great  many  girls  do  write  now.  I  have 
three  friends  myself  who 

Uncle  Jasper's  red  face  had  grown  positively  pathetic  in 
its  agitation.  "  What  a  place  England  must  have  become  !  " 
he  interrupted  with  a  groan.  "  Well,  lass,  I'll  believe  you, 
but  I  have  one  request  to  make.  Tell  me  what  you  like 
about  your  wedding ;  go  into  all  the  raptures  you  care  for 
over  your  wedding  dress,  and  even  over  the  lucky  individual 
for  whom  you  will  wear  it ;  tell  me  twenty  times  a  day  that 
he's  perfection,  that  you  and  you  alone  have  found  the  eighth 
wonder  of  the  world,  but  for  the  love  of  heaven  leave  out 
about  the  books  !  The  other  will  be  hard  to  bear,  but  I'll 
endeavor  to  swallow  it — but  the  books,  oh  !  heaven  preserve 
us — leave  out  about  the  printed  books.  Don't  mention  the 
unlucky  magazines  for  which  you  write.  Don't  breathe  to 
me  the  thoughts  with  which  you  fill  them.  Oh,  if  there's 
an  awful  creature  under  the  sun  'tis  a  blue-stocking,  and  to 
think  I  should  have  come  back  from  England  to  find  such  a 
horror  in  the  person  of  my  own  niece  !  " 


HGIT  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  POOR  CHARLOTTE. 

WHILE  this  light  and  playful  scene  was  being  enacted  in 
a  wealthy  house  in  Prince's  Gate,  and  Charlotte  Harman 
and  her  father  laughed  merrily  over  the  Australian  uncle's 
horror  of  authors  and  their  works,  another  Charlotte  was  go 
ing  through  a  very  different  part,  in  a  different  place  in  the 
great  world's  centre. 

There  could  scarcely  be  a  greater  contrast  than  between 
the  small  and  very  shabby  house  in  Kentish  Town  and  the 
luxurious  mansion  in  Kensington.  The  parlor  of  this  house, 
for  the  drawing-rooms  were  let  to  lodgers,  was  occupied  by 
one  woman.  She  sat  by  a  little  shabbily  covered  table,  writ 
ing.  The  whole  appearance  of  the  room  was  shabby :  the 
furniture,  the  carpet,  the  dingy  window  panes,  the  tiny  pre 
tence  of  a  fire  in  the  grate.  It  was  not  exactly  a  dirty  room, 
but  it  lacked  all  brightness  and  freshness.  The  chimney  did 
not  draw  well,  and  now  and  then  a  great  gust  of  smoke  would 
come  down,  causing  the  busy  writer  to  start  and  rub  her 
smarting  eyes.  She  was  a  young  woman,  as  young  as  Char 
lotte  Harman,  with  a  slight  figure  and  very  pale  face.  There 
were  possibilities  of  beauty  in  the  face.  But  the  possibilities 
had  come  to  nothing  ;  the  features  were  too  pinched,  too  un 
derfed,  the  eyes,  in  themselves  dark  and  heavily  fringed,  too 
often  dimmed  by  tears.  It  was  a  very  cold  day,  and  sleet 
was  beginning  to  fall,  and  the  smoking  chimney  had  a  vin 
dictive  way  of  smoking  more  than  ever,  but  the  young  wo 
man  wrote  on  rapidly,  as  though  for  bare  life.  Each  page 
as  she  finished  it,  was  flung  on  one  s'de ;  some  few  fell  on 
the  floor,  but  she  did  not  stop  even  to  pick  them  up. 

The  short  winter  daylight  had  quite  faded,  and  she  had  stood 
up  to  light  the  gas,  when  the  room  door  was  pushed  slightly 
ajar,  and  one  of  those  little  maids- of-all-work,  so  commonly 
•cen  in  London,  put  in  her  untidy  head. 

"  Ef  you  please,  'em,  Harold's  been  and  hurt  Daisy,  and 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUtfD.  9 

they  is  quarreling  h'ever  so,  and  I  think  as  baby's  a  deal 
worse,  'em." 

"  I  will  go  up  to  them,  Anne,  and  you  may  stay  down 
and  lay  the  cloth  for  tea — I  expect  your  master  in  early  to 
night." 

She  put  her  writing  materials  hastily  away,  and  with  a 
light,  quick  step  ran  upstairs  She  entered  a  room  which 
in  its  size  and  general  shabbiness  might  better  have  been 
called  an  attic,  and  found  herself  in  the  presence  of  three 
small  children.  The  two  elder  ran  to  meet  her  with  out 
stretched  arms  and  glad  cries.  The  baby  sat  up  in  his  cot 
and  gazed  hard  at  his  mother  with  flushed  cheeks  and 
round  eyes. 

She  took  the  baby  in  her  arms  and  sat  down  in  a  low 
rocking-chair  close  to  the  fire.  Harold  and  Daisy  went  on 
their  little  knees  in  front  of  her.  Now  that  mother  had 
come  their  quarrel  was  quite  over,  and  the  poor  baby  ceased 
to  fret. 

Seated  thus,  with  her  little  children  about  her  there  was 
no  doubt  at  all  that  Charlotte  Home  had  a  pleasant  face ; 
the  care  vanished  from  her  eyes  as  she  looked  into  the  in 
nocent  eyes  of  her  babies,  and  as  she  nursed  the  seven- 
months-old  infant  she  began  crooning  a  sweet  old  song  in  a 
true,  delicious  voice,  to  which  the  other  two  listened  with 
delight : — 

"  In  the  days  when  we  went  gipsying, 
A  long  time  ago." 

"  What's  gipsying,  mother  ?  "  asked  Harold,  aged  six. 

"  Something  like  picnicking,  darling.  People  who  live 
in  the  country,  or  who  are  rich," — here  Mrs.  Home  sighed — 
"  often,  in  the  bright  summer  weather,  take  their  dinner  or 
their  tea,  and  they  go  out  into  the  woods  or  th/  green  fields 
and  eat  there.  I  have  been  to  gypsy  teas ;  they  are  great 
fun.  We  lit  a  fire  and  boiled  the  kettle  ovetf  it,  and  made 
the  tea ;  it  was  just  the  same  tea  as  we  had  at  home,  but 
somehow  it  tasted  much  better  out-of-doors." 

"  Was  that  some  time  ago,  mother  ?  "  asked  little  Daisy. 

'•  It  would  seem  a  long,  long  time  to  you,  darling  ;  but  it 
was  not  so  many  years  ago."  ** 

"  Mother,"  asked  Harold,  "  why  aren't  we  rich,  or  why 
don't  we  live  in  the  country  ?  " 

A  dark  cloud,  caused  by  some  deeper  emotion  than  the 
mere  fact  of  beAng  poor,  passed  over  the  mother's  face. 


ro  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

*•  We  cannot  live  in  the  country,"  she  said,  "  because 
your  father  has  a  curacy  in  this  part  of  London.  Your  fa 
ther  is  a  brave  man,  and  he  must  not  desert  his  post." 

"  Then  why  arn't  we  rich  ? "  persisted  the  boy. 

"  Because — because — I  cannot  answer  you  that,  Harold  ; 
and  now  I  must  run  downstairs  again.  Father  is  coming  in 
earlier  than  usual  to-night,  and  you  and  Daisy  may  come 
down  for  a  little  bit  after  tea — that  is,  if  you  promise  to  be 
very  good  children  now,  and  not  to  quarrel.  See,  baby  has 
dropped  asleep ;  who  will  sit  by  him  and  keep  him  from 
waking  until  Anne  comes  back  ? " 

"  I,  mother,"  said  Harold,  and,  "  I,  mother,"  said  Daisy. 

"  That  is  best,"  said  the  gentle-voiced  mother  ;  "  you 
both  shall  keep  him  very  quiet  and  safe  ;  Harold  shall  sit 
on  this  side  of  his  little  cot  and  Daisy  at  the  other." 

Both  children  placed  themselves,  mute  as  mice,  by  the 
baby's  side,  with  the  proud  look  of  being  trusted  on  their 
little  faces.  The  mother  kissed  them  and  flew  downstairs. 
There  was  no  time  for  quiet  or  leisurely  movement  in  that 
little  house;  in  the  dingy  parlor,  the  gas  had  now  been 
lighted,  and  the  fire  burned  better  and  brighter,  and  Anne 
with  most  praisworthy  efforts,  was  endeavoring  to  make  some 
toast,  which,  alas  I  she  only  succeeded  in  burning.  Mrs. 
Home  took  the  toasting-fork  out  of  her  hands. 

"  There,  Anne,  that  will  do  nicely  :  I  will  finish  the 
toast.  Now  please  run  away,  and  take  Miss  Mitchell's  din 
ner  up  to  her  ;  she  is  to  have  a  little  pie  to-night  and  some 
baked  potatoes  ;  they  are  all  waiting,  and  hot  in  the  oven, 
and  then  please  go  back  to  the  children." 

Anne,  a  really  good-tempered  little  maid-of-all-work,  van 
ished,  and  Mrs.  Home  made  some  fresh  toast,  which  she  set, 
brown,  hot,  and  crisp,  in  the  china  toast-rack.  She  then 
boiled  a  new^aid  egg,  and  had  hardly  finished  these  final 
preparations  before  the  rattle  of  the  latch-key  was  heard  in 
the  hall-door,  and  her  husband  came  in.  He  was  a  tall 
man,  with  a  face  so  colorless  that  hers  looked  almost  rosy 
by  contrast ;  his  voice,  however,  had  a  certain  ring  about  it, 
which  betokened  that  most  rare  and  happy  gift  to  its  posses 
sor,  a  brave  and  courageous  heart  The  way  in  which  he 
now  said,  "  Ah,  Lottie  !  "  and  stooped  down  and  kissed  her, 
had  a  good  sound,  and  the  wife's  eyes  sparkled  as  she  sat 
down  by  the  tea-tray. 

"  Must  you  go  out  again  to-night,  \ngus  ?  "  she  said 
presently. 


HO  W  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  x f 

"  Yes,  my  dear.  Poor  Mrs.  Swift  is  really  dying  at  last. 
I  promised  to  look  in  on  her  again." 

"  Ah,  poor  soul  1  has  it  really  come  ?  And  what  will 
those  four  children  do  ?  " 

"  We  must  get  them  into  an  Orphanage  ;  Petterick  has 
interest.  I  shall  speak  to  him.  Lottie  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear." 

"  Beat  up  that  fresh  egg  I  saw  you  putting  into  the  cup 
board  when  I  came  in ;  beat  it  up,  and  add  a  little  milk  and 
a  teaspoonful  of  brandy.  I  want  to  take  it  round  with  me 
to  little  Alice.  That  child  has  never  left  her  mother's  side 
for  two  whole  days  and  nights,  and  I  believe  has  scarcely 
tasted  a  morsel ;  I  fear  she  will  sink  when  all  is  over." 

Lottie  rose  at  once  and  prepared  the  mixture,  placing  it, 
when  ready,  in  a  little  basket,  which  her  husband  seldom 
went  out  without ;  but  as  she  put  it  in  his  hand  she  could  not 
refrain  from  saying — 

"  I  was  keeping  that  egg  for  your  breakfast,  Angus  ;  I 
do  grudge  it  a  little  bit." 

"  And  to  eat  it  when  little  Alice  wanted  it  so  sorely 
would  choke  me,  wife,"  replied  the  husband ;  and  then  but 
toning  his  thin  overcoat  tightly  about  him,  he  went  out  into 
the  night 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  STORY. 

THE  children  were  at  last  in  bed,  the  drawing-room  lodger 
had  finished  her  dinner,  the  welcome  time  of  lull  in  the  day's 
occupations  had  come,  and  Mrs.  Home  sat  by  the  dining- 
room  fire.  A  large  basket,  filled  with  little  garments  ready 
for  mending,  lay  on  the  floor  at  her  feet,  and  her  working 
materials  were  close  by ;  but,  for  a  wonder,  the  busy  fingers 
were  idle.  In  vain  Daisy's  frock  pleaded  for  that  great  rent 
made  yesterday,  and  Harold's  socks  showed  themselves  most 
disreputably  out  at  heels.  Charlotte  Home  neither  put  on 
her  thimble  nor  threaded  her  needle  ;  she  sat  gazing  into  the 
fire,  lost  in  reverie.  It  was  not  a  very  happy  or  peaceful 
reverie,  to  judge  from  the  many  changes  c*n  her  expressive 


,  r  HO  W  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

lace!  The  words,  "  Shall  I,  or  shall  I  not  ?  "  came  often  to 
her  lips.  Many  things  seemed  to  tear  her  judgment  in  di 
vers  ways  ;  most  of  all  the  look  in  her  little  son's  eyes  when 
he  asked  that  eager,  impatient  question,  "  mother,  why  aren't 
we  rich  ? "  but  other  and  older  voices  than  little  Harold's 
said  to  her,  and  they  spoke  pleadingly  enough,  "  Leave  this 
thing  alone  ;  God  knows  what  is  best  for  you.  As  you  have 
gone  on  all  these  years,  so  continue,  not  troubling  about 
what  you  cannot  understand,  but  trusting  to  him." 

"  I  cannot ;  I  am  so  tired  sometimes,"  sighed  the  poor 
young  wife. 

She  was  still  undetermined  when  her  husband  returned. 
There  was  a  great  contrast  in  their  faces — a  greater  almost 
in  their  voices,  in  the  tone  of  her  dispirited,  "  Well,  Angus,' 
and  his  almost  triumphant  answer, — 

•'  Well,  Lottie,  that  hard  fight  has  ended  bravely.  Thank 
God!" 

"  Ah !  then  the  poor  soul  has  gone,"  said  the  wife,  mov 
ing  her  husband's  chair  into  the  warmest  corner. 

"  She  has  truly  gone ;  I  saw  her  breathe  her  last.  But 
there  is  no  need  to  apply  the  word  '  poor '  to  her  ;  she  has 
done  with  all  that.  You  know  what  a  weakly,  troubled 
creature  she  always  was,  how  temptation  and  doubt  seemed 
to  wrap  her  round  like  a  mist,  and  prevent  her  seeing  any  of 
the  shining  of  the  blue  sky.  Well,  it  all  passed  away  at  tht 
last,  and  there  was  nothing  but  a  steadfast  looking  into  the 
very  face  of  her  Lord.  He  came  for  her,  and  she  just 
stretched  out  her  arms  and  went  to  Him.  Thank  God  for 
being  privileged  to  witness  such  a  death  ;  it  makes  life  far 
more  easy." 

A  little  weariness  had  crept  perceptibly  into  the  brave 
voice  of  the  minister  as  he  said  these  last  words.  His  wife 
laid  her  hand  sympathizingly  on  his.  They  sat  silent  for  a 
few  moments,  ,then  he  spoke  on  a  different  subject, — 

"  How  is  baby  to-night,  Lottie  ? " 

"  Better,  I  think  ;  his  tooth  is  through  at  last.  He  will 
have  rest  now  for  a  bit,  poor  little  darling." 

"  We  must  be  careful  to  keep  him  from  catching  another 
cold.  And  how  is  Anne  getting  on  ?  " 

"  As  well  as  we  can  expect  from  such  an  ignorant  little 
mite.  And  oh  !  Angus,  the  nursery  is  such  a  cold,  draughty 
room,  and  I  do — I  do  wish  we  were  rich." 

The  last  words  were  tumbled  out  with  a  great  irrrpre*- 
•ible  burst  of  tears. 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  13 

**  Why,  my  Lottie,  what  has  come  to  you  ?  "  said  her  hus 
band,  touched  and  alarmed  by  this  rare  show  of  feeling 
"  What  is  it,  dear  ?  You  wish  we  were  rich,  so  do  not  I  ;  I 
am  quite  content.  I  go  among  so  very  much  poorer  people 
than  myself,  Lottie,  that  it  always  seems  to  me  I  have  far 
more  than  my  fair  share  of  life's  good  things  ;  but,  at  any 
late  my  Lottie,  crying  won't  make  us  rich,  so  don't  waste 
your  strength  over  it/ 

"  I  can't  help  it  sometimes,  Angus ;  it  goes  to  my  heart  to 
see  you  shivering  in  such  a  great-coat  as  you  have  just  taken 
off,  and  then  I  know  you  want  better  food,  and  wine ;  you 
are  so  tired  this  moment  you  can  scarcely  speak.  What  a 
lot  of  good  some  port  wine  would  do  you ! " 

"  And  what  a  lot  of  good,  wishing  for  it  will  do  me  !  Come 
Lottie,  be  sensible ;  we  must  not  begin  to  repine  for  what  we 
have  not  got,  and  cannot  get.  Let  us  think  of  our  mercies." 

"You  make  me  ashamed  of  myself,  Angus.  But  these 
thoughts  don't  come  to  me  for  nothing ;  the  fact  is — yes,  I 
will  tell  you  at  last,  I  have  long  been  making  up  my  mind. 
The  truth  is,  Angus,  I  can't  look  at  the  children — I  can't 
look  at  you  and  see  you  all  suffering,  and  hold  my  peace  any 
longer.  We  are  poor,  very — very— -dreadfully  poor,  but  we 
ought  to  be  rich." 

"  Lottie  !  " 

Such  a  speech,  so  uttered,  would  have  called  for  reproof 
from  Angus  Home,  had  it  passed  the  lips  of  another.  But 
he  knew  the  woman  he  had  married  too  well  not  to  believe 
there  was  reason  in  her  words. 

"  I  am  sorry  you  have  kept  a  secret  from  me,"  he  said. 
"  What  is  this  mystery,  Lottie  ?  " 

"  It  was  my  mother,  Angus.  She  begged  of  me  to  keep 
it  to  myself,  and  she  only  told  me  when  she  was  dying.  But 
may  I  just  tell  you  all  from  the  very  beginning  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear.  If  it  is  a  romance,  it  will  just  soothe  me,  for 
though  I  am,  I  own,  tired,  I  could  not  sleep  for  a  long  time 
to  come." 

"  First,  Angus,  I  must  confess  to  a  little  bit  of  deceit  I 
practised  on  you." 

"  Ah,  Lottie  ! "  said  her  hushand  playfully,  "  no  wondci 
you  cried,  with  such  a  heavy  burden  on  your  soul ;  but  con 
fess  your  sins,  wife." 

"  You  know  how  it  has  always  fretted  me,  our  being 
poor,"  said  Charlotte.  "  Your  income  is  only  just  sufficient 
to  put  bread  into  our  mouths,  and,  indeed,  we  sometimes  want 


14  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

that.  I  have  often  lain  awake  at  night  wondering  ho* 
I  could  make  a  little  money,  and  this  winter,  when  it  set  in 
so  very  severe,  set  my  thoughts  harder  to  work  on  this  great 
problem  than  ever.  The  children  did  want  so  much,  Angus 
— new  boots,  and  little  warm  dresses — and  so — and  so — one 
day  about  a  month  ago,  Mrs.  Lisle,  who  reads  and  writes  so 
much,  called,  and  I  was  very  low,  and  she  was  kind  and  sym 
pathizing  ;  somehow,  at  last  out  it  all  came,  I  did  so  wish  to 
earn  money.  She  asked  me  if  I  could  write  a  good  clear 
hand,  a  hand  easily  read.  I  showed  her  what  I  could  do, 
and  she  was  good  enough  to  call  it  excellent.  She  said  no 
more  then,  but  the  next  day  she  came  early.  She  brought 
me  a  MS.  written  by  a  friend  of  hers  ;  very  illegible  it  was. 
She  would  not  tell  me  the  name  of  her  friend,  but  she  said 
she  was  a  lady  very  desirous  of  seeing  herself  in  print.  If  I 
would  copy  this  illegible  writing  in  my  own  good  clear  hand,  the 
lady  would  give  me  five  pounds.  I  thought  of  the  children's 
boots  and  their  winter  dresses,  and  I  toiled  over  it.  I  con 
fess  now  that  it  was  wear)'  work,  and  tired  me  more  than  I 
cared  to  own.  I  finished  it  to-day ;  this  evening,  just  before 
you  came  home,  that  task  was  done ;  but  this  morning  I  did 
something  else.  You  know  Miss  Mitchell  is  always  kind 
enough  to  let  me  see  the  Times.  This  morning  Anne 
brought  it  down  as  usual,  and,  as  I  ran  my  eyes  over  it  I  was 
struck  by  an  advertisement,  '  A  young  lady  living  at  Kensing 
ton  wished  for  the  services  of  an  amanuensis,  for  so  many 
hours  daily.  Remuneration  good.'  I  could  not  help  it,  An 
gus,  my  heart  seemed  to  leap  into  my  mouth.  Then  and 
there  I  put  on  my  bonnet,  and  with  a  specimen  of  my  hand 
writing  in  my  pocket,  went  off  to  answer  the  advertisement  in 
person.  The  house  was  in  Prince's  Gate,  Kensington  :  the 
name  of  the  young  lady  who  had  advertised  for  my  services 
was  Harm  an." 

"  Harman  !  how  strange,  wife !  your  own  name  before  you 
married." 

"  Yes,  dear ;  but  such  a  different  person  from  me,  so  rich, 
while  I  am  so  poor ;  so  very,  very  beautiful,  and  graceful,  and 
gracious  :  she  may  have  been  a  year  or  so  younger  than  I, 
she  was  not  much.  She  had  a  thoughtful  face,  a  noble  face. 
I  could  have  drawn  tears  from  her  eyes  had  I  described  the 
little  children,  but  I  did  not.  It  was  delightful  to  look  upon 
her  calm.  Not  for  worlds  would  I  disturb  it ;  and,  Angus, 
I  foMnd  out  another  thing — her  name  was  not  only  Harman, 
but  Charlotte  Harman." 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  15 

There  was  no  doubt  at  all  that  the  otner  Charlotte  was 
excited  no  -v,  the  color  had  come  into  her  cheeks,  her  eyes 
sparkled.  Her  husband  watched  her  with  undisguised  sur 
prise. 

"  I  made  a  good  thing  of  it  Angus,"  she  continued.  "  I 
am  to  go  to  Prince's  Gate  every  morning,  I  am  to  be  there  at 
ten,  and  give  my  services  till  one  o'clock.  I  am  then  to  have 
lunch  with  the  young  lady,  and  for  all  this,  and  the  enjoy 
ment  of  a  good  dinner  into  the  bargain,  I  am  to  receive  thirty 
shillings  a  week.  Does  not  it  sound  too  good  to  be  true  ?  " 

"  And  that  is  how  we  are  to  be  rich,  Lottie.  Well,  go  on 
and  prosper.  I  know  what  an  active  little  woman  you  are 
and  how  impossible  it  is  for  you  to  let  the  grass  grow  under 
your  feet.  I  do  not  object  to  your  trying  this  thing,  if  it  is 
not  too  much  for  your  strength,  and  if  you  can  safely  leave  the 
children." 

"  I  have  thought  of  the  children,  Angus  ;  this  is  so  much 
for  their  real  interest,  that  it  would  be  a  pity  to  throw  it 
away.  But,  as  you  say,  they  must  not  be  neglected.  I  shall 
ask  that  little  Alice  Martin  to  come  in  to  look  after  them  un 
til  I  am  back  every  day ;  she  will  be  glad  to  earn  half-a-crown 
a  week." 

"  As  much  in  proportion,  as  your  thirty  shillings  is  to  you 
— eh,  Lottie  ?  See  how  rich  we  are  in  reality." 

Mrs.  Home  sighed,  and  the  bright  look  left  her  face. 
her  husband  perceived  the  change. 

"  That  is  not  all  you  have  got  to  tell  me,"  he  said. 

"  No,  it  is  only  leading  up  to  what  I  want  to  tell  you.  It 
is  what  has  set  me  thinking  so  hard  all  day  that  I  can  keep  it 
to  myself  no  longer.  Angus,  prepare  for  a  surprise ;  that 
beautiful  young  lady,  who  bears  the  same  name  I  bore  before 
I  was  married — is — is — she  is  my  near  relation." 

"  Your  near  relation,  Charlotte  ?  But  I  never  knew  you 
had  any  near  relations  " 

"  No,  dear,  I  never  told  you ;  my  mother  thought  it  best 
that  you  should  not  know.  She  only  spoke  to  me  of  them 
when  she  was  dying.  She  was  sorry  afterwards  that  she  had 
even  done  that  ;  she  begged  of  me,  unless  great  necessity 
arose,  not  to  say  anything  to  you. '  It  is  only  because  it 
seems  to  me  the  necessity  has  really  come  that  I  speak  of 
what  gave  my  mother  such  pain  to  mention." 

"  Yes,  dear,  you  have  wealthy  relations.  I  donH  know 
that  it  matters  very  greatly.  But  go  on." 

"  There  is  more   than  that,  Angus,  but  I  will   try  to  tell 


,f  /fOHT  IT  ALL  CAME  RC  'JND. 

you  all.  You  know  how  poor  I  was  when  you  found  me,  and 
gave  me  your  love  and  yourself." 

"  We  were  both  poor,  Lottie ;  so  much  so  that  we  thought 
two  hundred  a  year,  which  was  what  we  had  to  begin  house 
keeping  0*1,  quite  riches." 

"  Yes,  Augus ;  well,  I  had  been  poor  all  my  life,  I  could 
never  do  what  rich  girls  did,  I  was  so  accustomed  to  wear 
ing  shabby  dresses,  and  eating  plain  food,  and  doing  without 
the  amusements  which  seem  to  come  naturally  into  the  lives 
of  most  young  girls,  that  I  had  ceased  to  miss  them.  I  was 
sent  to  a  rather  good  school,  and  had  lessons  in  music  and 
painting,  and  I  sometimes  wondered  how  my  mother  had 
money  even  to  give  me  these.  Then  I  met  you,  and  we  were 
married.  It  was  just  after  our  little  Harold  was  born  that 
my  mother  died," 

"  Yes,  you  went  down  into  Hertfordshire ;  you  were  away 
for  six  weeks." 

"  I  took  Harold  with  me ;  mother  was  so  proud  of  him. 
Whenever  she  had  an  easy  moment,  she  used  to  like  to  have 
him  placed  on  her  knee.  She  told  me  then  that  she  had  a 
little  son  older  than  I,  who  died,  and  that  our  Harold  re 
minded  her  of  him.  One  night,  I  remember  so  well,  I  was 
sitting  up  with  her.  She  had  been  going  through  great  pain, 
but  towards  the  morning  she  was  easier.  She  was  more  in 
clined,  however,  to  talk  than  to  sleep.  She  began  again  speak 
ing  about  the  likeness  between  our  Harold  and  my  little 
brother  who  died. 

" « I  shall  give  you  little  Edgar's  christening  robe  for 
Harold,'  she  said.  '  I  never  could  bear  to  part  with  it  before 
but  I  don't  mind  his  having  it.  Open  my  wardrobe,  Char 
lotte,  and  you  will  find  it  folded  away  in  a  blue  paper,  in  the 
small  wooden  box.' 

"  I  did  so,  and  took  out  a  costly  thing,  yellow,  it  is  true, 
witfc  age,  but  half  covered  with  most  valuable  lace. 

"  'Why,  mother,'  I  exclaimed, '  how  did  you  ever  get  such 
a  valuable  dress  as  this  ?  Why,  this  lace  would  be  cheap  at 
a  guinea  a  yard  ! ' 

" '  It  cost  a  great  deal  more  than  that,'  replied  mother, 
stoking  down  the  soft  lace  and  muslin  with  her  thin  fingers  ; 
'but  we  were  rich  then,  Lottie.' 

"  '  Rich  1 "  I  said,  '  rich  !  I  never,  never  thought  that  you 
and  I  had  anything  to  say  to  money,  mother.' 

" *  You  don't  remember  your  father,  child?" 


HOW  IT.  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  17 

" '  No,  mother,'  I  said  /  '  how  could  I  ?  I  was  only  two 
years  old  when  he  died.' 

"  Mother  was  silent  after  that,  and  I  think  she  went  into 
a  doze,  but  my  curiosity  and  wonder  were  excited,  and  I  could 
not  help  seeking  to  know  more. 

"  '  I  never  knew  that  we  were  rich,'  I  said  again  the  next 
day.  '  Why  did  you  never  tell  me  before  ?  The  next  bes' 
thing  to  enjoying  riches  would  be  to  hear  about  them.' 

"  '  I  did  not  want  to  make  you  discontented,  Lottie.  1 
thought  what  you  had  never  known  or  thought  of  you  would 
never  miss.  I  feared,  my  dear,  to  make  you  discontented.' 

"  '  But  I  have  thought  of  money,'  I  owned, '  I  have  thought 
of  it  lately  a  great  deal.  When  I  look  at  Angus  I  long  to 
get  him  every  luxury,  and  I  want  my  little  Harold  to  grow 
up  surrounded  by  those  things  which  held  to  develop  a  fine 
and  refined  character. 

"  '  But  they  don't,  Lottie ;  they  don't  indeed,'  answered 
my  dear  dying  mother.  '  Riches  bring  a  snare — they  debase 
the  character,  they  don't  ennoble  it.' 

"  '  Mother,'  I  said,  '  I  see  plainly  that  you  are  well 
acquainted  with  this  subject.  You  will  tell  me,  mother, 
what  you  know  ?  ' 

"  '  Yes,'  replied  my  mother ;  '  it  won't  do  you  the  least 
good ;  but  as  I  have  said  so  much  to  you  I  may  as  well  tell 
the  rest.' 

"  Then,  Augus,  my  mother  told  me  the  following  story ; 
it  is  not  very  long. 

"  She  was  an  orphan  and  a  governess  when  my  father 
found  her  and  married  her — she  was  my  father's  second 
wife.  She  was  much  younger  than  he — he  had  grown-up 
sons — two  grown-up  sons  at  the  time  of  his  marriage ;  and 
they  were  very  deeply  offended  at  his  thinking  of  a  second 
marriage.  So  indignant  were  they  that  my  father  and  they 
came  to  quite  an  open  quarrel,  and  mother  said  that  during 
the  five  years  that  my  father  lived  she  never  saw  either  of 
her  stepsons  until  just  at  the  close.  She  was  very  happy  as 
my  father's  wife  ;  he  loved  her  dearly,  and  as  he  had  plenty 
of  money  she  wanted  for  nothing.  My  father  was  an  old 
man,  as  I  have  said,  and  he  was  tired  of  fuss,  and  also  of 
much  society ;  so  though  they  were  so  rich  mother  lived 
rather  a  lonely  life —  in  a  large  and  beautiful  place  in 
Hertfordshire.  She  said  the  place  was  called  the  Hermitage, 
and  was  one  of  the  largest  and  best  in  the  neighborhood. 
At  last  my  father  fell  ill,  very  ill,  and  the  doctors  said  he 


cg  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

must  die.  Then  for  the  first  time  there  came  hastening 
back  to  the  Hermitage  the  two  elder  sons — their  names  were 
Johr  and  Jaiper — the  eldest  John,  my  mother  said,  was 
very  handsome,  and  very  kind  and  courteous  to  her.  He 
was  a  married  man,  and  he  told  mother  that  he  had  a  little 
daughter  much  about  my  age,  who  was  also  called  Charlotte. 
My  father  and  his  two  sons  seemed  quite  reconciled  in  these 
last  days,  and  they  spent  most  of  their  time  with  him.  On 
the  evening,  however,  before  he  died,  he  had  mother  and  me 
with  him  alone.  I  sat  on  the  bed,  a  little  baby  child  of  two, 
and  my  father  held  mother's  hand.  He  told  mother  how  much 
he  loved  her,  and  he  spoke  a  very  little  about  money 
matters. 

" '  John  will  make  it  all  right  for  you,  Daisy,'  he  said. 
4  John  knows  all  about  my  wishes  with  regard  to  you  and 
little  Charlotte.  I  should  like  this  little  Charlotte  and  his  to 
be  friends  ;  they  are  both  called  after  my  own  mother,  the 
best  woman  I  ever  met.  You  will  bring  up  little  Charlotte 
with  every  comfort  and  refinement,  dear  wife.' 

"  The  next  day  my  father  died,  and  John  and  Jasper 
went  to  London.  They  did  not  even  wait  for  the  funeral, 
though  Jasper  came  back  for  it.  John,  he  told  mother,  was 
kept  by  the  sudden  dangerous  illness  of  his  wife.  Jasper 
said  that  John  felt  our  father's  death  most  dreadfully. 
Mother  had  liked  John,  who  was  always  very  civil  to  her, 
but  she  could  not  bear  Jasper :  she  said  he  seemed  a 
cleverer  man  than  his  brother,  but  she  never  could  get  over 
a  feeling  of  distrust  towards  him.  The  will  was  never  read 
to  my  mother,  but  Jasper  came  back  again  from  London  to 
tell  her  of  its  contents,  and  then  judge  of  her  surprise — her 
name  was  not  even  mentioned,  neither  her  name  nor  mine. 
She  had  been  married  without  settlements,  and  every  farthing 
of  all  my  father's  great  wealth  was  left  to  his  two  sons,  John 
and  Jasper.  Jasper  expressed  great  surprise;  he  even 
said  it  was  a  monstrously  unfair  thing  of  his  father  to  do, 
and  that  certainly  he  and  his  brother  would  try  to  rectify  it 
in  a  measure.  He  then  went  back  to  London,  and  mother 
was  left  alone  in  the  great  empty  house.  She  said  she  felt 
quite  stunned,  and  was  just  then  in  such  grief  for  my  father 
that  she  scarcely  heeded  the  fact  that  she  was  left  penniless. 
Two  days  afterwards  a  lawyer  from  London  came  dx>wn  to 
see  her.  He  came  with  a  message  from  her  .wo  stepsons. 
They  were  much  concerned  for  her,  and  they  were  willing  to 
help  her.  They  would  allow  her,  between  'them,  as  long  as 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  19 

she  lived  the  interest  on  three  thousand  pounds — on  one 
condition.  The  condition  was  this  :  she  was  never  to  claim 
the  very  least  relationship  with  them  ;  she  was  to  bring  up 
her  daughter  as  a  stranger  to  them.  They  had  never  ap 
proved  of  their  father's  marrying  her  ;  they  would  allow  her 
the  money  on  condition  that  all  connection  between  them 
completely  dropped.  The  day  it  was  renewed  by  either 
mother  or  daughter,  on  that  day  the  interest  on  the  three 
thousand  pounds  would  cease  to  be  paid.  My  mother  was 
too  young,  too  completely  inexperienced,  and  too  bowed 
down  with  grief,  to  make  the  least  objection.  Only  one  faint 
protest  did  she  make.  '  My  husband  said,'  she  faltered, 
'  on  the  very  last  day  of  his  life,  he  said  that  he  wished  my  little 
Charlotte  and  that  other  Charlotte  in  London  to  be  friends.' 
But  the  lawyer  only  shook  his  head.  On  this  point  his  clients 
were  firm.  '  All  communication  between  the  families  must 
cease.' 

"  That  is  the  story,  Augus,"  continued  Charlotte  Home, 
suddenly  changing  her  voice,  and  allowing  her  eyes,  which 
had  been  lowered  during  her  brief  recital,  to  rise  to  her 
husband's  face.  "  My  dear  mother  died  a  day  or  two  after 
wards.  She  died  regretting  having  to  own  even  what  she  did, 
and  begging  me  not  to  think  unkindly  of  my  father,  and 
not  to  unsettle  your  mind  by  telling  you  what  could  do  no 
good  whatever. 

"  *  I  do  not  think  unkindly  of  my  father,  mother,'  I  an 
swered,  '  and  I  will  not  trouble  my  husband's  mind,  at  least, 
not  yet,  never,  perhaps,  unless  fitting  opportunity  arises. 
But  I  know  what  I  think,  mother — what,  indeed,  I  know. 
That  was  not  my  father's  real  will ;  my  brothers  John  and 
Jasper  have  cheated  you.  Of  this  I  am  very  sure.' 

"  Mother,  though  she  was  so  weak  and  dying,  got  quite  a 
color  into  her  cheeks  when  I  said  this.  '  No,  no,'  she  said, 
'  don't  harbor  such  a  thought  in  your  heart — my  darling,  my 
darling.  Indeed  it  is  utterly  impossible.  It  was  a  real, 
real  will.  I  heard  it  read,  and  your  brothers,  they  were 
gentlemen.  Don't  let  so  base  a  thought  of  them  dwell 
in  your  heart.  It  is,  I  know  it  is,  impossible.' 

"  I  said  no  more  to  trouble  my  dear  mother  »na  shortly 
afterwards  she  died.  That  is  six  years  ago." 


HOW  IT  ALL   CAME  ROUND. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

TWO  WAYS  OF  LOOKING  AT  IT. 

AFTER  the  story  was  finished  the  husband  and  wife  sat 
for  a  long  time  side  by  side,  in  absolute  silence.  Both  pairs 
of  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  glowing  embers  in  the  fire ;  the 
wife's  reflected  back  both  the  lights  and  the  shadows  ;  they 
were  troubled  eyes,  troubled  with  possible  joy,  troubled  also 
with  the  dark  feelings  of  anger.  The  husband's,  on  the 
contrary,  were  calm  and  steady.  No  strong  hope  was  visit 
ing  them,  but  despair,  even  disquietude,  seemed  miles  away. 
Presently  the  wife's  small  nervous  fingers  were  stretched  out 
to  meet  her  husband's,  his  closed  over  them,  he  turned  his 
head,  met  her  anxious  face,  smiled  and  spoke. 

"  So  it  seems  on  the  cards  that  you  might  have  been  rich, 
Lottie.  Well,  it  was  unjust  of  your  father  not  to  have  made 
some  provision  for  your  mother  and  you,  but — but — he  has 
long  been  dead,  the  whole  thing  is  over.  Let  it  pass." 

"  Augus !  do  you  know  what  I  should  like  ?  "  asked  his 
wife. 

"  No.    What  ? " 

"  I  should  like  to  meet  those  two  men,  John  and  Jasper 
Harman,  face  to  face,  and  ask  them  without  the  least  pre 
amble  or  preparation,  what  they  have  done  with  my  father's 
real  will  ?  " 

"  Dear  Lottie,  you  must  get  this  strange  idea  out  of  your 
head.  It  is  not  right  of  you  to  harbor  such  thoughts  of  any 
men." 

"  I  should  like  to  look  so  hard  at  them,"  continued 
Charlotte,  scarcely  heeding  her  husband's  words.  "  I  know 
their  eyes  would  flinch,  they  would  be  startled,  they  would 
betray  themselves.  Angus,  I  can't  help  it,  the  conviction 
that  is  over  me  is  too  strong  to  be  silenced.  For  years,  ever 
since  my  mother  told  me  that  story,  I  have  felt  that  we  have 
been  wronged,  nay,  robbed  of  our  own.  But  when  I  entered 
that  house  to-day  and  found  myself  face  with  my  half-brother's 
("aughter,  when  I  found  myself  in  the  house  that  I  had  been 
!den  to  enter,  I  felt — I  knew,  that  a  great  wrong  had 


fOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  2l 

comtni't-pd.  My  father!  Why  should  I  think  ill  of  my 
rather,  An^u.s  ?  Is  it  likely  that  he  would  have  made  no 
provision  for  my  mother  whom  he  loved,  or  for  me  ?  Is  it 
likely  that  he  would  have  left  everything  he  possessed  to  the 
two  sons  with  whom  he  had  so  bitterly  quarrelled,  that  for 
years  they  had  not  even  met  ?  Is  it  likely  ?  Augus,  you  are  a 
just  man,  and  you  will  own  to  the  truth.  Is  it  likely,  that 
with  his  almost  dying  breath,  he  should  have  assured  my 
neither  that  all  was  settled  that  she  could  bring  me  up  well, 
In  comfort  and  luxury,  that  Charlotte  Harman  and  I  should 
be  friends  ?  No,  Angus  !  I  believe  my  father ;  he  was  a 
good  and  just  man  always ;  and,  even  if  he  was  not,  dying 
men  don't  tell  lies." 

"  I  grant  that  it  seems  unlikely,  Lottie  ;  but  then,  on  the 
other  hand,  what  do  you  accuse  these  men  of  ?  Why,  of  no 
less  a  crime  than  forging  a  will,  of  suppressing  the  real  will, 
and  bringing  forward  one  of  their  own  manufacture.  Why, 
my  dear  wife,  such  an  act  of  villany  would  be  not  only 
difficult,  but,  I  should  say,  impossible." 

"  I  don't  know  how  it  was  done,  Augus,  but  something 
was  done,  of  that  I  am  sure,  and  what  that  thing  was  I  shall 
live,  please  God,  to  find  out." 

"  Then  you — you,  a  clergyman's  wife — the  wife  of  a  man 
who  lives  to  proclaim  peace  on  earth,  good-will  to  men,  you 
go  into  your  brother's  house  as  a  spy !  " 

Mrs.  Home  colored.  Her  husband  had  risen  from  his 
chair. 

"  You  shall  not  do  that,"  he  said ;  "  I  am  your  husband, 
and  I  forbid  it.  You  can  only  go  to  the  Harmans,  if  they  are 
indeed  the  near  relations  you  believe  them  to  be,  on  one  con 
dition." 

"  And  that  ?  "  said  Charlotte. 

"  That  you  see  not  only  Mr.  Harman's  daughter,  but  Mr. 
Harman  himself  ;  that  you  tell  him  exactly  who  you  are  .... 
If,  after  hearing  your  story,  he  allows  you  to  work  for  his 
daughter,  you  can  do  so  without  again  alluding  to  the  rela 
tionship.  If  they  wish  it  dropped,  drop  it,  Lottie  ;  work  for 
them  as  you  would  for  any  other  strangers,  doing  your  best 
work  bravely  and  well.  But  begin  openly.  Above  all  things 
thinking  no  evil  in  your  heart  of  them.'" 

"  Then  I  cannot  go  on  these  conditions,  Angus,  for  I  can 
not  feel  charity  in  my  heart  towards  Mr.  Harman.  It  seemed 
such  a  good  thing  this  morning.  But  I  must  give  it  up." 

"  And  something  else  will  come  in  it's  place,  never  fear  ; 


22  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME 

but  I  did  not  know  until  to-night  that  my  Lottie  so  pined  for 
riches." 

"  Angus,  I  do — I  do — I  want  Harold  to  go  to  a  good 
school,  Daisy  to  be  educated,  little  Angus  to  get  what  is 
necessary  for  his  health,  and  above  all,  you,  my  dearest,  my 
dearest,  to  have  a  warm  overcoat,  and  port  wine  :  the  over 
coat  when  you  are  cold,  the  port  wine  when  you  are  tired. 
Tlunk  of  having  these  luxuries,  not  only  for  yourself,  but  to 
give  away  to  your  poor,  Angus,  and  I  am  sure  we  ought  to 
have  them." 

"  Ah,  Lottie  !  you  are  a  witch,  you  try  to  tempt  me,  and 
all  these  things  sound  very  pleasant.  But  don't  dream  of 
what  we  haven't,  let  us  live  for  the  many,  many  things  we 
have." 


CHAPTER   V. 

LOVE    IN   A    DIAMOND 

THE  next  day  Angus  Home  went  out  early  as  usual,  about 
his  many  parish  duties ;  this  was  it  was  true,  neither  a  feast 
nor  a  fast  day,  nor  had  he  to  attend  a  morning  service,  but 
he  had  long  ago  constituted  himself  chief  visitor  among  the 
sick  and  poorest  of  his  flock,  and  such  work  occupied  him  from 
morning  to  night.  Perhaps  in  a  nature  naturally  inclined  to 
asceticism,  this  daily  mingling  with  the  very  poor  and  the 
very  suffering,  had  helped  to  keep  down  all  ambitions  for 
earthly  good  things,  whether  those  good  things  came  in  the 
guise  of  riches  or  honors ;  but  though  unambitious  and  very 
humble,  never  pushing  himself  forward,  doing  always  the 
work  that  men  who  considered  themselves  more  fastidious 
would  shun,  never  allowing  his  voice  to  be  heard  where  he 
believed  wiser  men  than  he  might  speak,  Mr.  Home  ^as 
neither  morbid  n»r  unhappy ;  one  of  his  greatest  character 
istics  was  an  utter  absence  of  all  self-consciousness. 

The  fact  was,  the  man,  though  he  had  a  wife  whom  he 
loved,  and  children  very  dear  to  him,  had  grown  accustomed 
to  hold  life  lightly ;  to  him  life  was  in  very  truth  a  pilgrim 
age,  a  school,  a  morning  which  should  usher  in  the  great  day 
of  the  future.  His  mental  and  spiritual  eyes  were  fixed  expeo 


HOW  JT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  23 

tantly  and  longingly  on  that  day ;  and  in  connection  with  it, 
it  would  be  wiong  to  say  that  he  was  without  ambition,  for 
be  had  a  very  earnest  and  burning  desire,  not  only  for  rank 
but  for  kingship  by  and  by  :  he  wanted  to  be  crovwied  with 
the  crown  of  righteousness. 

A  Home  knew  well  that  to  wear  that  crown  in  all  ts 
lustre  o  future,  it  must  begin  to  fit  his  head  down  here  ; 
and  he  ;  o  knew  that  those  who  put  on  such  crowns  on 
earth,  find  them,  as  their  great  and  blessed  Master  did  before 
them,  made  of  thorns, 

It  is  no  wonder  then  that  the  man  with  so  simple  a  faith, 
so  Christ-like  a  spirit,  should  not  be  greatly  concerned  by 
his  wife's  story  of  the  night  before.  He  did  not  absolutely 
forget  it,  for  he  pondered  over  it  as  he  wended  his  way  to  the 
attic  where  the  orphan  Swifts  lived.  He  felt  sorry  for  Lottie 
as  he  thought  of  it,  and  he  hoped  she  would  soon  cease  to 
have  such  uncharitable  ideas  of  her  half-brothers  ;  he  himself 
could  not  even  entertain  the  notion  that  any  fraud  had  been 
committed  ;  he  felt  rather  shocked  that  his  Lottie  should  dwell 
on  so  base  a  thing. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  this  saint-like  man  could  be  a  tiny 
bit  provoking ;  and  so  his  wife  felt  when  he  left  her  without 
again  alluding  to  their  last  night's  talk.  After  all  it  is  wives 
and  mothers  who  feel  the  sharpest  stings  of  poverty.  Char 
lotte  had  known  what  to  be  poor  meant  all  her  life,  as  a 
child,  as  a  young  girl,  as  a  wife,  as  a  mother,  but  she  had 
been  brave  enough  about  it,  indifferent  enough  to  it,  until 
the  children  came ;  but  from  the  day  her  mother's  story  was 
told  her,  and  she  knew  how  close  the  wings  of  earthly  com 
fort  had  swept  her  by,  discontent  came  into  her  heart.  Dis 
content  came  in  and  grew  with  the  birth  of  each  fresh  little 
one.  She  might  have  made  her  children  so  comfortable,  she 
could «do  so  little  with  them;  they  were  pretty  children  too. 
It  went  to  her  heart  to  see  their  beauty  disfigured  in  ugly 
clothes ;  she  used  to  look  the  other  way  with  a  great  jealous 
pang,  when  she  saw  children  not  nearly  so  beautiful  as  hers, 
yet  looked  at  and  admired  because  of  their  bright  fresh 
colors  and  dainty  little  surroundings.  But  poverty  brought 
worse  stings  than  these.  The  small  house  in  Kentish  Town 
was  hot  and  stifling  in  the  months  of  July  and  August ;  the 
children  grew  pale  and  pined  for  the  fresh  country  air  which 
could  not  be  given  to  them  ;  Lottie  herself  grew  weak  and 
languid,  and  her  husband's  pale  face  seemed  to  grow  more 
etherial  day  by  day.  At  all  such  times  as  these  did  Charlotte 


2  +  HOIV  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

Home's  mind  and  thoughts  refer  back  to  her  mother's  story, 
and  again  and  again  the  idea  returned  that  a  great  great  wrong 
had  been  done. 

In  the  winter  when  this  story  opens,  poverty  came  very 
close  to  the  little  household.  They  were,  it  is  true,  quite  out 
of  debt,  but  they  were  only  so  because  the  food  was  kept  so 
scanty,  the  fires  so  low,  dress  so  very  insufficient  to  keep  at 
a  distance  the  winter's  bitter  cold ;  they  were  only  out  of 
debt  because  the  mother  slaved  from  morning  to  night,  and 
the  father  ate  less  and  less,  having,  it  is  to  be  feared,  less 
and  less  appetite  to  eat 

Then  the  wife  and  mother  grew  desperate,  money  must  be 
brought  in — how  could  it  be  done  ?  The  doctor  called  and 
said  that  baby  Angus  would  die  if  he  had  not  more  milk — he 
must  have  what  is  called  in  London  baby-milk,  and  plenty  of 
it.  Such  milk  in  Kentish  Town  meant  money.  Lottie  re 
solved  that  baby  Angus  should  not  die.  In  answering  an 
advertisement  which  she  hoped  would  give  her  employment, 
she  accidentally  found  herself  in  her  own  half-brother's  house. 
There  was  the  wealth  which  had  belonged  to  her  father ; 
there  were  the  riches  to  which  she  was  surely  born.  How 
delicious  were  those  soft  carpets  ;  how  nice  those  cushioned 
seats  ;  how  pleasant  those  glowing  fires ;  what  an  air  of  re 
finement  breathed  over  everything ;  how  grand  it  was  to  be 
served  by  those  noiseless  and  well-trained  servants;  how 
great  a  thing  was  wealth,  after  all ! 

She  thought  all  this  before  she  saw  Charlotte  Harman. 
Then  the  gracious  face,  the  noble  bearing,  the  kindly 
and  sweet  manner  of  this  girl  of  her  own  age,  this  girl  who 
might  have  been  her  dearest  friend,  who  was  so  nearly  re 
lated  to  her,  filled  her  with  sudden  bitterness ;  she  believed 
herself  immeasurably  inferior  to  Miss  Harman,  and  yet  she 
knew  that  she  might  have  been  such  another.  She  left  the 
house  with  a  mingled  feeling  of  relief  and  bitterness.  She 
was  earning  present  money.  What  might  she  not  discover 
to  benefit  her  husband  and  children  by  and  by  ? 

In  the  evening,  unable  to  keep  her  thoughts  to  herself, 
she  told  them  and  her  story  for  the  first  time  to  her  husband. 
Instantly  he  tore  the  veil  from  her  eyes.  Was  she,  his 
wife,  to  go  to  her  own  brother's  house  as  a  spy  ?  No  !  a 
thousand  times  no  !  No  wealth,  however  needed,  would  be 
worth  purchasing  at  such  a  price.  If  Charlotte  could  not 
banish  from  her  mind  these  unworthy  thoughts,  she  must 
give  up  so  excellent  a  means  of  earning  money. 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  35 

Poor  Charlotte  !  The  thoughts  her  husband  considered 
so  mean,  so  untrue,  so  unworthy,  had  become  by  this  time 
part  of  her  very  being.  Oh  !  must  the  children  suffer 
because  unrighteous  men  enjoyed  what  was  rightfully 
theirs  ? 

For  the  first  time,  the  very  first  time  in  all  her  life,  she 
felt  discontented  with  her  Angus.  If  only  he  were  a  little 
more  everyday,  a  little  more  practical ;  if  only  he  would  go 
to  the  bottom  of  this  mystery,  and  set  her  mind  at  rest  ! 

She  went  about  her  morning  duties  in  a  state  of  mental 
friction  and  aggravation,  and,  as  often  happens,  on  this  very 
morning  when  she  seemed  least  able  to  bear  it,  came  the  pro 
verbial  last  straw.  Anne,  the  little  maid,  put  in  her  head  at 
the  parlor  door. 

"  Ef  you  please,  'em,  is  Harold  to  wear  'em  shoes  again  ? 
There's  holes  through  and  through  of  'em,  and  it's  most 
desp'rate  sloppy  out  of  doors  this  mornin'." 

Mrs.  Home  took  the  little  worn-out  shoes  in  her  hand  ; 
she  saw  at  a  glance  that  they  were  quite  past  mending, 

"  Leave  them  here,  Anne,"  she  said.  "You  are  right, 
he  cannot  wear  these  again.  I  will  go  out  at  once  and  buy 
him  another  pair." 

The  small  maid  disappeared,  and  Charlotte  put  her  hand 
into  her  pocket.  She  drew  out  her  purse  with  a  sinking 
heart.  Was  there  money  enough  in  it  to  buy  the  necessary 
food  for  the  day's  consumption,  and  also  to  get  new  shoes 
for  Harold  ?  A  glance  showed  her  but  too  swiftly  there  was 
not.  She  never  went  on  credit  for  anything — the  shoes  must 
wait,  and  Harold  remain  a  prisoner  in  the  house  that  day. 
She  went  slowly  up  to  the  nursery  :  Daisy  and  baby  could  go 
out  and  Harold  should  come  down  to  the  parlor  to  he  . 

But  one  glance  at  her  boy's  pale  face  caused  her  heart 
to  sink.  He  was  a  handsome  boy — she  thought  him  aristo 
cratic,  fit  to  be  the  son  of  a  prince — but  to-day  he  was  deadly 
pale,  with  that  washy  look  which  children  who  pine  for  fresh 
air  so  often  get.  He  was  standing  in  rather  a  moping  atti 
tude  by  the  tiny  window ;  but  at  sight  of  his  mother  he  flew 
to  her. 

"  Mother,  Anne  says  I'm  to  have  new  shoes.  Have  you 
got  them  ?  I  am  so  glad." 

No,  she  could  not  disappoint  her  boy.  A  sudden  idea 
darted  through  her  brain.  She  would  ask  Miss  Mitchell, 
the  drawing-room  boarder,  to  lend  her  the  three-and- six  pence 
which  the  little  shoes  would  cost.  T  was  the  first  time  site 


,6  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

had  ever  borrowed,  and  her  pride  rose  in  revolt  at  even  nam 
ing  the  paltry  sum — but,  for  the  sake  of  her  boy's  pale  face  ? 

"  I  am  going  out  to  buy  the  shoes,"  she  said,  stooping 
down  to  kiss  the  sweet  upturned  brow  ;  and  she  flew  down 
stairs  and  tapped  at  the  drawing-room  door. 

Miss  Mitchell  was  a  lady  of  about  fifty ;  she  had  been 
with  them  now  for  nearly  a  year,  and  what  she  paid  for  the 
drawing-room  and  best  bedroom  behind  it,  quite  covered  the 
rent  of  the  shabby  little  house.  Miss  Mitchell  was  Charlotte 
Home's  grand  standby  ;  she  was  a  very  uninteresting  person, 
neither  giving  nor  looking  for  sympathy,  never  concerning 
herself  about  the  family  in  whose  house  she  lived.  But  then, 
on  the  other  hand,  she  was  easily  pleased  ;  she  never  grum 
bled,  she  paid  her  rent  like  clockwork.  She  now  startled 
Lottie  by  coming  instantly  foward  and  telling  her  that  it 
was  her  intention  to  leave  after  the  uusal  notice ;  she  found  the 
baby's  fretful  cries  too  troublesome,  for  her  room  was  under 
the  nursery;  this  was  one  reason.  Another,  perhaps  the 
most  truthful  one,  was,  that  her  favorite  curate  in  St.  Mar 
tin's  Church  over  the  way,  had  received  promotion  to  another 
and  more  fashionable  church,  and  she  would  like  to  move  to 
where  she  could  still  be  under  his  ministry.  Charlotte  bowed  ; 
there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  accept  the  fact  that  her  com 
fortable  lodger  must  go.  Where  could  she  find  a  second 
Miss  Mitchell,  and  how  could  she  possibly  now  ask  for  the 
loan  of  three  and  sixpence  ? 

She  left  the  room.  Where  was  the  money  to  come  from 
to  buy  Harold's  shoes  ?  for  that  little  pleading  face  must  not 
be  disappointed.  This  care  was,  for  the  moment,  more  press 
ing  than  the  loss  of  Miss  Mitchell.  How  should  she  get  the 
money  for  her  boy  ?  She  pressed  her  hand  to  her  brow  to 
think  out  this  problem.  As  she  did  so,  a  ring  she  wore  on 
her  wedding-finger  flashed ;  it  was  her  engagement  ring, 
a  plain  gold  band,  only  differing  from  the  wedding-ring,  which 
it  now  guarded,  in  that  it  possessed  one  small,  very  small 
diamond.  The  diamond  was  perhaps  tht  smallest  that  could 
be  purchased,  but  it  was  pure  of  its  kind,  and  the  tiny  gem 
now  flashed  a  loving  fire  into  her  ey«s,  as  though  it  would 
speak  if  it  could  in  answer  to  her  inquiry.  Yes,  if  she  sold 
this  ring,  the  money  would  be  forthcoming.  It  was  pre 
cious,  it  symbolized  much  to  her  ;  she  had  no  other  to  act  as 
guard  ;  but  it  was  not  so  precious  as  the  blue  eyes  of  her  first 
born.  Her  resolve  was  scarcely  conceived  before  it  was  put 
in  practie.  She  hastened  out  with  the  ring  ;  a  jeweller  lived 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


27 


not  far  away ;  he  gave  her  fifteen  shillings,   and  Charlotte, 
feeling  quite  rich,  bought  the  little  shoes  and  hurried  home 

As  she  almost  flew  along  the  sloppy  streets  a  fresh 
thought  came  to  her.  Yes  !  she  must  certainly  decline  that 
very  excellent  situation  with  Miss  Harman.  That  sorely 
wanted  thirty  shillings  a  week  must  be  given  up,  there  was 
no  question  about  that.  Bitter  were  her  pangs  of  heart  as  she 
relinquished  the  precious  money,  but  it  would  be  impossible 
for  her  to  go  to  her  brother's  house  in  the  only  spirit  in  which 
her  husband  would  allow  her  to  go.  Yes  ;  she  must  give  it 
up.  When  the  children  were  at  last  fairly  started  on  their 
walk  she  would  sit  down  and  write  to  Miss  Harman.  But 
why  should  she  write  ?  She  stood  still  as  the  thought  came 
to  her  to  go  to  Miss  Harmon  in  person  ;  to  tell  her  from 
her  own  lips  that  she  must  not  visit  that  house,  or  see  her 
daily.  She  might  or  might  not  tell  her  who  she  really  was  ; 
she  would  leave  that  to  circumstances ;  but  she  would  at 
least  once  more  see  her  brother's  house  and  look  into  the 
eyes  of  her  brother's  child.  It  would  be  a  short,  soon-lived- 
through  excitement.  Still  she  was  in  that  mood  when  to  sit 
still  in  inactivity  was  impossible  ;  the  visit  would  lead  to 
nothing,  but  st'ill  she  would  pay  it ;  afterwards  would  be  time 
enough  to  think  of  rinding  some  one  to  replace  Miss  Mitchell, 
of  trying  to  buy  again  her  engagement  ring,  of  purchasing 
warm  clothes  for  her  little  ones. 


CHAPTER  VI 
IN  PRINCE'S  GATE. 

HAVING  arranged  her  household  matters,  been  informed 
of  another  pair  of  boots  which  could  not  last  many  days 
longer,  seen  to  the  children's  dinner,  and  finally  started  the 
little  group  fairly  off  for  their  walk  with  Anne,  Charlotte 
ran  upstairs,  put  on  her  neat  though  thin  and  worn  black 
silk,  her  best  jacket  and  bonnet  and  set  off  to  Kensington 
to  see  Miss  Harman. 

She  reached  the  grand  house  in  Prince's  Gate  about 
twelve  o'clock.  The  day  had  indeed  long  begun  for  her, 
but  she  reflected  rather  bitterly  that  most  likely  Miss  Harmaa 


,3  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

had  but  just  concluded  her  breakfast.  She  found,  however, 
that  she  had  much  wronged  this  energetic  young  lady.  Break 
fast  had  been  over  with  some  hours  ago,  and  when  Mrs.  Home 
asked  for  her,  the  footman  who  answered  her  modest  sum 
mons  said  that  Miss  Harman  was  out,  but  had  left  directions 
that  if  a  lady  called  she  was  to  be  asked  to  wait. 

Charlotte  was  taken  up  to  Miss  Harman's  own  private  sit 
ting  room,  where,  after  stirring  the  fire,  and  furnishing  her  with 
that  morning's  Times,  the  servant  left  her  alone. 

Mrs.  Home  was  glad  of  this.  She  drew  her  comfortable 
easy  chair  to  the  fire,  placed  her  feet  upon  the  neat  brass 
rail,  closed  her  eyes,  and  tried  to  fancy  herself  alone.  Had 
her  father  lived,  such  comforts  as  these  would  have  been 
matters  of  everyday  occurrence  to  her.  Common  as  the  air 
she  breathed  would  this  grateful  warmth  be  then  to  her  thin 
limbs,  this  delicious  easy  chair  to  her  aching  back.  Had  her 
father  lived,  or  had  justice  been  done,  in  either  case  would 
soft  ease  have  been  her  portion.  She  started  from  her  re 
clining  position  and  looked  round  the  room.  A  parrot  swung 
lazily  on  his  perch  in  one  of  the  windows.  Two  canaries  sang 
in  a  gilded  cage  in  the  other.  How  Harold  and  Daisy  would 
love  these  birds  !  Just  over  her  head  was  a  very  beautifully  ex 
ecuted  portrait  in  oils  of  a  little  child,  most  likely  Miss  Har 
man  in  her  infancy.  Ah,  yes,  but  baby  Angus  at  home  was 
more  beautiful.  A  portrait  of  him  would  attract  more  admi 
ration  than  did  that  of  the  proud  daughter  of  all  this  wealth. 
Tears  started  unbidden  to  the  poor  perplexed  mother's  eyes. 
It  was  hard  to  sit  quiet  with  this  burning  pain  at  her  heart 
Just  then  the  door  was  opened  and  an  elderly  gentleman  with 
silver  hair  came  in.  He  bowed,  distantly  to  the  stranger 
sitting  by  his  hearth,  took  up  a  book  he  had  come  to  seek, 
and  withdrew.  Mrs.  Home  had  barely  time  to  realize  that 
this  elderly  man  must  really  be  the  brother  who  had  sup 
planted  her,  when  a  sound  of  feet,  of  voices,  of  pleasant 
laughter,  drew  near.  The  room  door  was  again  opened,  and 
Charlotte  Harman,  accompanied  by  two  gentlemen,  came  in. 
The  elder  of  the  two  men  was  short  and  rather  stout,  with 
hair  that  had  once  been  red,  but  was  now  sandy,  keen,  deep- 
set  eyes,  and  a  shrewd,  rather  pleasant  face.  Miss  Harman 
addressed  him  as  Uncle  Jasper,  and  they  continued  firing 
gay  badinage  at  one  another  for  a  moment  without  perceiv 
ing  Mrs.  Home's  presence.  The  younger  man  was  tall  and 
square-shouldered,  with  a  rather  rugged  face  of  some  power 
He  might  have  been  about  thirty.  He  entered  the  room  b> 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


29 


Miss  Harman's  side,  and  stood  by  her  now  with  a  certain  air 
of  proprietorship. 

"  Ah  !  Mrs  Home,"  said  the  young  lady,  quickly  dis 
covering  her  visitor  and  coming  forward  and  shaking  hands 
with  her  at  once,  "  I  expected  you.  I  hope  you  have  not 
waited  long,  John,"  turning  to  the  young  man,  "  will  you 
come  back  at  four  ?  Mrs.  Home  and  I  have  some  little 
matters  to  talk  over ,  and  I  daresay  her  time  is  precious.  I 
shall  be  quite  ready  to  go  out  with  you  at  four.  Uncle 
Jasper,  my  father  is  in  the  library ;  will  you  take  him  this 
book  from  me  ?  " 

Uncle  Jasper,  who  had  been  peering  with  all  his  might 
out  of  his  short-sighted  eyes  at  the  visitor,  now  answered 
with  a  laugh,  "  We  are  politely  dismissed,  eh  ?  Hinton,"  and 
taking  the  arm  of  the  younger  man  the}'  left  the  room. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

IT   INTERESTS    HER. 

"  AND  now,  Mrs  Home,  we  will  have  some  lunch  to 
gether  up  here,  and  then  afterwards  we  can  talk  and  quite 
finish  ajl  our  arrangements,"  said  the  rich  Charlotte,  looking 
with  her  frank  and  pleasant  eyes  at  the  poor  one.  She  rang 
a  bell  as  she  spoke,  and  before  Mrs  Hope  had  time  to  reply, 
a  tempting  little  meal  was  ordered  to  be  served  without 
delay. 

"  I  have  been  with  my  publishers  this  morning,"  said 
Miss  Harman.  "  They  are  good  enough  to  say  they  believe 
my  tale  promises  well,  but  they  want  it  completed  by  the 
first  of  March,  to  come  out  with  the  best  spring  books.  Don't 
you  think  we  may  get  it  done  ?  It  is  the  middle  of  January 
now." 

"  I  daresay  it  may  be  done,"  answered  Mrs.  Home,  ris 
ing,  and  speaking  in  a  tremulous  voice.  "  I  have  no  doubt 
you  will  work  hard  and  have  it  ready — but — but — I  regret 
it  much,  I  have  come  to-day  to  say  I  cannot  take  the  situa 
tion  you  have  so  kindly  offered  me." 

"  But  why  ?  "  said  Miss  Harman,  "  why  ? "  Some  color 
came  into  her  cheeks  as  she  added,  "  I  don't  understand  you. 


3o  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROPND. 

I  thought  you  had  promised.  I  thought  it  was  all  arranged 
yesterday." 

Her  tone  was  a  little  haughty,  but  how  well  she  used  it ; 
how  keenly  Mrs.  Home  felt  the  loss  of  what  she  was  resign 
ing. 

"  I  did  promise  you,"  she  said  ;  "  I  feel  you  have  a  right 
to  blame  me.  It  is  a  considerable  loss  to  me  resigning  your 
situation,  but  my  husband  has  asked  me  to  do  so.  I  must 
obey  my  husband,  must  I  not  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  yes,  of  course.  But  why  should  he  object.  He 
is  a  clergyman,  is  he  not  ?  Is  he  too  proud — I  would  tell 
no  one.  All  in  this  house  should  consider  you  simply  as  a 
friend.  Our  writing  would  be  just  a  secret  between  you  and 
me.  Your  husband  will  give  in  when  you  tell  him  that." 

"  He  is  not  in  the  least  proud,  Miss  Harman — not  proud 
I  mean  in  that  false  way." 

"  Then  I  am  not  giving  you  money  enough — of  course 
thirty  shillings  seems  too  little  ;  I  will  gladly  raise  it  to  two 
pounds  a  week,  and  if  this  book  succeeds,  you  shall  have 
more  for  helping  me  with  the  next." 

Mrs.  Home  felt  her  heart  beating.  How  much  she 
needed,  how  keenly  she  longed  for  that  easily  earned  money, 
"  I  must  not  think  of  it,"  she  said,  however,  shaking  her 
head.  "  I  confess  I  want  money,  but  I  must  earn  it  else 
where.  I  cannot  come  here.  My  husband  will  only 
allow  me  to  do  so  on  a  certain  condition.  I  cannot  even  tell 
you  the  condition — certainly  I  cannot  fulfil  it,  therefore  I 
cannot  come." 

"  Oh  !  but  that  is  exciting.     Do  tell  it  to  me." 

"  If  I  did  you  would  be  the  first  to  say  I  must  never  come 
to  this  house  again." 

"  I  am  quite  sure  you  wrong  me  there.  I  may  as  well 
own  that  I  have  taken  a  fancy  to  you.  I  am  a  spoiled  child, 
and  I  always  have  my  own  way.  My  present  way  is  to  have 
you  here  in  this  snug  room  for  two  or  three  hours  daily — you 
and  I  working  in  secret  over  something  grand.  I  always 
get  my  way  so  your  conditions  must  melt  into  air.  Now, 
what  are  they." 

"  Dare  I  tell  her  ? "  thought  Mrs.  Home.  Aloud  she  said, 
"  The  conditions  are  these  : — I  must  tell  you  a  story,  a  story 
about  myself — and — and  others." 

"  And  I  love  stories,  especially  when  they  happen  in  real 
life.' 

"  Miss  Harman,  don't  tempt  me.     I  want  to  tell  you,  but 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  31 

I  had  better  not ;  yon  had  better  let  me  go  away.     You  are 
very  happy  now,  are  you  not  ? " 

"  What  a  strange  woman  you  are,  Mrs.  Home  !  Yes,  I 
am  happy." 

"  You  won't  like  my  story.  It  is  possible  you  may  not 
be  happy  after  you  have  heard  it." 

"  That  is  a  very  unlikely  possibility.  How  can  the  tale 
of  an  absolute  stranger  affect  my  happiness  ? "  These  words 
were  said  eagerly — a  little  bit  defiantly. 

But  Mrs.  Home's  face  had  now  become  so  grave,  and 
there  was  such  an  eager,  almost  frightened  look  in  her  eyes, 
that  her  companion's  too  changed.  After  all  what  was  this 
tale  ?  A  myth,  doubtless  ;  but  she  would  hear  it  now. 

"  I  accept  the  risk  of  my  happiness  being  imperilled," 
she  said.  "  I  choose  to  hear  the  tale — I  am  ready." 

"  But  I  may  not  choose  to  tell,"  said  the  other  Char 
lotte. 

"  I  would  make  you.  You  have  begun — begun  in  such  a 
way  that  you  must  finish." 

"  Is  that  so  ? "  replied  Mrs.  Home.  The  light  was  grow 
ing  more  and  more  eager  in  her  eyes.  She  said  to  herself, 
"  The  die  is  cast,"  There  rose  up  before  her  a  vision  of  her 
children — of  her  husband's  thin  face.  Her  voice  trembled. 

"  Miss  Harman — I  will  speak — you  won't  interrupt  me  ?  " 

"  No,  but  lunch  is  on  the  table.  You  must  eat  some 
thing  first." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  cannot  with  that  story  in  prospect ;  to 
eat  would  choke  me !  " 

"  What  a  queer  tale  it  must  be  ! "  said  the  other  Char 
lotte.  "  Well,  so  be  it."  She  seated  herself  in  a  chair  at  a 
little  distance  from  Mrs.  Home,  fixed  her  gaze  on  the  glow 
ing  fire,  and  said,  "  I  am  ready.  I  wont  interrupt  you." 

The  poor  Charlotte,  too,  looked  at  the  fire.  During  the 
entire  telling  of  the  tale  neither  of  these  young  women 
glanced  at  the  other. 

"It  is  my  own  story,"  began  Mrs.  Horn  :  then  she 
paused,  and  continued,  "My  father  died  wh  .  I  was  two 
years  old.  During  my  father's  lifetime  I,  who  am  now  so  poor, 
had  all  the  comforts  that  you  must  have  had,  Miss  Harman, 
in  your  childhood.  He  died,  leaving  my  mother,  who  was 
both  young  and  pretty,  nothing.  She  was  his  second  wife. 
for  five  years  she  had  enjoyed  all  that  his  wealth  could  pur 
chase  for  her.  He  died,  leaving  her  absolutely  penniless. 
my  mother  was,  as  I  have  said,  a  second  wife.  My  father 


j,  HOW  TT  ALL  CAME  ROUND 

had  two  grown-up  sons.  These  sons  had  quarrelled  with  him 
at  the  time  of  his  marrying  my  young  mother ;  they  came  to 
see  him  and  were  reconciled  on  his  deathbed.  He  left  to 
«-hese  sons  every  penny  of  his  great  wealth.  The  sons  ex 
pressed  surprise  when  the  will  was  read.  They  even  blamed 
my  father  for  so  completely  forgetting  his  wife  and  youngest 
child.  They  offered  to  make  some  attonement  for  him. 
During  my  mother's  lifetime  they  settled  on  her  three  thou 
sand  pounds ;  I  mean  the  interest,  at  five  per  cent.,  on  that 
sum.  It  was  to  return  to  them  at  her  death,  it  was  not  to 
descend  to  me,  and  my  mother  must  only  enjoy  it  on  one 
condition.  The  condition  was,  that  all  communication  must 
cease  between  my  father's  family  and  hers.  On  the  day  she 
renewed  it  the  money  would  cease  to  be  paid.  My  mother 
was  young,  a  widow,  and  alone  ;  she  accepted  the  condi 
tions,  and  the  money  was  faithfully  paid  to  her  until  the 
day  of  her  death.  I  was  too  young  to  remember  my  father, 
and  I  only  heard  this  story  about  him  on  my  mother's  death 
bed  ;  then  for  the  first  time  I  learned  that  we  might  have 
been  rich,  that  we  were  in  a  measure  meant  to  enjoy  the 
good  things  which  money  can  buy.  My  mother  had  educated 
me  well,  and  you  may  be  quite  sure  that  with  an  income  of 
one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a  year  this  could  only  be  done 
by  practising  the  strictest  economy.  I  was  accustomed  to 
doing  without  the  pretty  dresses  and  nice  things  which  came 
as  natural  to  other  girls  as  the  air  they  breathed.  In  my 
girlhood,  I  did  not  miss  these  things ;  but  at  the  time  of  my 
mother's  death,  at  the  time  the  story  first  reached  my  ears,  I 
was  married,  and  my  eldest  child  was  born.  A  poor  man 
had  made  me,  a  poor  girl  his  wife,  and,  Miss  Harman,  let 
me  tell  you,  that  wives  and  mothers  do  long  for  money.  The 
longing  with  them  is  scarcely  selfish,  it  is  for  the  beings 
dearer  than  themselves.  There  is  a  pain  beyond  words  in 
denying  your  little  child  what  you  know  is  for  that  child's 
good,  but  yet  which  you  cannot  give  because  of  your  empty 
purse  ;  there  is  a  pain  in  seeing  your  husband  shivering  in 
too  thin  a  coat  on  bitter  winter  nights.  You  know  nothing  of 
such  things — may  you  never  know  them  ;  but  they  have  gone 
quite  through  my  heart,  quite,  quite  through  it.  Well,  that 
is  my  story ;  not  much,  you  will  say,  after  all.  I  might  have 
been  rich,  I  am  poor,  that  is  my  story." 

"  It  interests  me,"  said  Miss  Harman,  drawing  a  long 
breath    '  it  interests  me  greatly  ;  but  you  will  pardon  my  ex- 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


33 


pressing  my  real  feelings :  I  think  your  father  was  a  cruel 
and  unjust  man." 

"  I  think  my  brothers,  my  half-brothers,  were  cruel  and 
unjust.  I  don't  believe  that  was  my  father's  real  will." 

"  What !  you  believe  there  was  foul  play  ?  This  is  inter 
esting — if  so,  if  you  can  prove  it,  you  may  be  righted  yet. 
Are  your  half-brothers  living  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  And  you  think  you  have  proof  that  you  and  your  mothei 
were  unjustly  treated  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  proof,  no  prt>of  whatever,  Miss  Harman,  I 
have  only  suspicions." 

"  Oh  !  you  will  tell  me  what  they  are  ?  " 

"  Even  they  amount  to  very  little,  and  yet  I  feel  them  to 
be  certainties.  On  the  night  before  my  father  died  he  told 
my  mother  that  she  and  I  would  be  comfortably  off;  he  also 
said  that  he  wished  that  I  and  his  son's  little  daughter,  that 
other  Charlotte  he  called  her,  should  grow  up  together  as 
sisters.  My  father  was  a  good  man,  his  mind  was  not 
wandering  at  all,  why  should  he  on  his  deathbed  have  said 
this  if  he  knew  that  he  had  made  such  an  unjust  will,  if  he 
knew  that  he  had  left  my  mother  and  her  little  child  with 
out  a  sixpence  ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Harmen  slowly  and  thoughtfully,  "  it 
looks  strange." 

After  this  for  a  few  moments  both  these  young  women 
were  silent.  Mrs.  Home's  eyes  again  sought  the  fire,  she 
had  told  her  story,  the  excitement  was  over,  and  a  dull  de 
spair  came  back  over  her  face.  Charlotte  Harman,  on  the 
contrary,  was  deep  in  that  fine  speculation  which  seeks  to 
succor  the  oppressed,  her  grey  eyes  glowed,  and  a  faint 
color  came  in  to  her  cheeks.  After  a  time  she  said — 

"  I  should  like  to  help  you  to  get  your  rights.  You  saw 
that  gentleman  who  left  the  room  just  how,  that  younger 
gentleman,  I  am  to  be  his  wife  before  long — he  is  a  lawyer, 
may  I  tell  him  your  tale  ?  " 

""No,  no,  not  for  worlds."  Here  Mrs.  Home  in  her  ex 
citement  rose  to  her  feet.  "  I  have  told  the  story,  forget  it 
now,  let  it  die." 

"  What  a  very  strange  woman  you  are,  Mrs.  Home  !  I 
must  say  I  cannot  understand  you." 

"  You  will  never  understand  me.  But  it  does  not  matter, 
we  are  not  likely  to  meet  again.  I  saw  you  for  the  first  time 
yesterday.  I  love  you,  I  thank  you.  You  are  a  rich  and 


34  ffOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

prosperous  young  lady,  you  won't  be  too  proud  to  accept  my 
thanks  and  my  love.  Now  good-bye." 

"  No,  you  are  not  going  in  that  fashion.  I  do  not  see 
why  you  should  go  at  all ;  you  have  told  me  your  story,  it 
only  proves  that  you  want  money  very  much,  there  is  nothing 
at  all  to  prevent  your  becoming  my  amanuensis." 

"  I  cannot,  I  must  not.     Let  me  go." 

"But  why?     I  do  not  understand." 

"  You  will  never  understand.  I  can  only  repeat  that  1 
must  not  come  here." 

Mrs.  Home  could  look  proud  when  she  liked.  It  was 
now  Miss  Harman's  turn  to  become  the  suppliant ;  with  a 
softness  of  manner  which  in  so  noble-looking  a  girl  was 
simply  bewitching,  she  said  gently — 

"  You  confess  that  you  love  me." 

Mrs.  Home's  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"  Because  I  do  I  am  going  away,"  she  said. 

She  had  just  revealed  by  this  little  speech  a  trifle  too 
much,  the  trifle  reflected  a  light  too  vivid  to  Charlotte  Har 
man's  mind,  her  face  became  crimson. 

"  I  will  know  the  truth,"  she  said,  "  I  will — I  must.  This 
story — you  say  it  is  about  you  ;  is  it  all  about  you  ?  has  it 
anything  to  say  to  me  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  don't  ask  me — good-bye." 

"  I  stand  between  you  and  the  door  until  you  speak.  How 
old  are  you,  Mrs.  Home  ?  " 

"  I  am  twenty-five." 

"  That  is  my  age.  Who  was  that  Charlotte  your  dying 
father  wished  you  to  be  a  sister  to  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell  you." 

"  You  cannot — but  you  must.  I  will  know.  Was  it — 
but  impossible !  it  cannot  be — am  /  that  Charlotte  ?  " 

Mrs.  Home  covered  her  face  with  two  trembling  hands 
The  other  woman,  with  her  superior  intellect,  had  discovered 
the  secret  she  had  feebly  tried  to  guard.  There  was  a  pause 
and  a  dead  silence.  That  silence  told  all  that  was  necessary 
to  Charlotte  Harman.  After  a  time  she  said  gently,  but  all 
the  fibre  and  tune  had  left  her  voice, — 

"  I  must  think  over  your  story,  it  is  a  very,  very  strange 
tale.  You  are  right,  you  cannot  come  here  ;  good-bye." 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


35 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  WOMAN   BY  THE   HEARTH. 

MRS.  HOME  went  back  to  the  small  house  in  Kentish 
Town, 'and  Miss  Harman  sat  on  by  her  comfortable  fire.  The 
dainty  lunch  was  brought  in  and  laid  on  the  table,  the  young 
lady  did  not  touch  it.  The  soft-voiced,  soft-footed  servant 
brought  in  some  letters  on  a  silver  salver.  They  looked 
tempting  letters,  thick  and  bulgy.  Charlotte  Harman  turned 
her  head  to  glance  at  them  but  she  left  them  unopened  by 
her  side.  She  had  come  in  very  hungry,  from  her  visit  to 
the  publishers,  and  these  letters  which  now  lay  so  close  had 
been  looked  forward  to  with  some  impatience,  but  now  she 
could  neither  eat  nor  read.  At  last  a  pretty  little  timepiece 
which  stood  on  a  shelf  over  her  head  struck  four,  and  a 
clock  ^from  a  neighboring  church  re-echoed  the  sound. 
Almost  at  the  same  instant  there  came  a  tap  at  her  room 
door. 

"  That  is  John,"  said  Charlotte.  She  shivered  a  little. 
Her  face  had  changed  a  good  deal,  but  she  rose  from  her 
seat  and  came  forward  to  meet  her  lover. 

"  Ready,  Charlotte  ? "  he  said,  laying  his  two  hands  on 
her  shoulders ;  then  looking  into  her  face  he  started  back  in 
some  alarm.  "  My  dear,  my  dearest,  something  has  hap 
pened  ;  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 

This  young  woman  was  the  very  embodiment  of  truth. 
She  did  not  dream  of  saying,  "  Nothing  is  the  matter."  She 
looked  up  bravely  into  the  eyes  she  loved  best  in  the  world 
and  answered, — 

"  A  good  deal  is  the  matter,  John.  I  am  very  much 
vexed  and — and  troubled." 

"  You  will  tell  me  all  about  it ;  you  will  let  me  help  you  ? " 
said  the  lover,  tenderly. 

"  Yes,  John  dear,  but  not  to-night.  I  want  to  think  to 
night.  I  want  to  know  more.  To-morrow  you  shall  hear ; 
certainly  to-morrow.  No,  I  will  not  go  out  with  you.  Is  my 
father  in  ?  Is  Uncle  Jasper  in  ?  " 


36  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

"  Your  father  is  out,  and  your  uncle  is  going.  I  left  him 
buttoning  on  his  great-coat  in  the  hall." 

"  Oh  1  I  must  see  Uncle  Jasper ;  forgive  me,  I  must  see 
him  for  a  minute." 

She  flew  downstairs,  leaving  John  Hinton  standing  alone, 
a  little  puzzled  and  a  little  vexed.  Breathless  she  arrived  in 
the  hall  to  find  her  uncle  descending  the  steps ;  she  rushed 
after  him  and  laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Uncle  Jasper,  I  want  you.  Where  are  you  going  ? ' 

"  Hoity-toity,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  turning  round  in 
some  surprise,  and  even  dismay  when  he  caught  sight  of  her 
face.  "  I  am  going  to  the  club,  child.  What  next.  I  sent 
Hinton  up  to  you.  What  more  do  you  want." 

"  I  want  you.  I  have  a  story  to  tell  you  and  a  question 
to  ask  you.  You  must  come  back." 

"  Lottie,  I  said  I  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  those 
books  of  yours,  and  I  won't.  I  hate  novels,  and  I  hate  nov 
elists.  Forgive  me,  child.  I  don't  hate  you ;  but  if  your 
father  and  John  Hinton  between  them  mean  to  spoil  a  fine 
woman  by  encouraging  her  to  become  that  monster  of  nature, 
a  blue-stocking,  I  won't  help  them,  and  that's  flat.  There 
now.  Let  me  go." 

"  It  is  no  fiction  I  want  to  ask  you,  Uncle  Jasper.  It  is 
a  true  tale,  one  I  have  just  heard.  It  concerns  me  and  you 
and  my  father.  It  has  pained  me  very  much,  but  I  believe 
it  can  be  cleared  up.  I  would  rather  ask  you  than  my  father 
about  it,  at  least  at  first ;  but  either  of  you  can  answer  what 
I  want  to  know  ;  so  if  you  will  not  listen  to  me  I  can  speak 
to  my  father  after  dinner." 

Uncle  Jasper  had  one  of  those  faces  which  reveal  noth 
ing,  and  it  revealed  nothing  now.  But  the  keen  eyes  looked 
hard  into  the  open  gray  eyes  of  the  girl  who  stood  by  his 
side. 

"  What  thread  out  of  that  tangled  skin  has  she  got  into 
her  head  ? "  he  whispered  to  himself.  Aloud  he  said,  "  I 
will  come  back  to  dinner,  Charlotte,  and  afterwards  you  shall 
take  me  up  to  your  little  snuggery.  If  you  are  in  trouble, 
my  dear,  you  had  better  confide  in  me  than  in  your  father. 
He  does  not — does  not  look  very  strong." 

Then  he  walked  down  the  street ;  but  when  he  reached 
his  club  he  did  not  enter  it.  He  walked  on  and  on.  He 
puzzling,  not  so  much  over  his  niece's  strange  words  as  over 
something  else.  Who  was  that  woman  who  sat  by  Char 
lotte's  hearth  that  day  ? 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUffD. 


S7 


CHAPTER  IX. 

/ 

CHARLOTTE  CANNOT  BEAR  THE  DARK. 

THE  elder  Mr.  Harman  had  retired  to  his  study,  and 
Charlotte  and  her  uncle  sat  side  by  side  in  that  young  ady's 
own  private  apartment.  The  room  looked  snug  and  shel 
tered,  and  the  subdued  light  from  a  Queen's  reading-lamp,  and 
from  the  glowing  embers  of  a  half  burned-out  fire,  were 
very  pleasant.  Uncle  Jasper  was  leaning  back  in  an  arm 
chair,  but  Charlotte  stood  on  the  hearthrug.  Soft  and  faint 
as  the  light  was,  it  revealed  burning  cheeks  and  shining 
eyes ;  but  the  old  face  these  tokens  of  excitement  appealed 
to  remained  completely  in  shadow. 

Charlotte  had  told  the  shory  she  had  heard  that  day,  and 
during  its  whole  recital  her  uncle  had  sat  motionless,  making 
no  comment  either  by  word  or  exclamation. 

Mrs.  Home's  tale  had  been  put  into  skilful  hands.  It 
was  well  told — all  the  better  because  the  speaker  so  earnest 
ly  hoped  that  its  existence  might  turn  out  a  myth — that  the 
phantom  so  suddenly  conjured  up  might  depart  as  quickly 
as  it  had  arrived.  At  last  the  story  came  to  a  conclusion. 
There  was  a  pause,  and  Charlotte  said, — 

"Well,  Uncle  Jasper?" 

"  Well,  Lottie  ? "  he  answered.  And  now  he  roused  him 
self,  and  bent  a  little  forward. 

**  Is  the  story  true,  Uncle  Jasper  ?  " 

"  It  is  certainly  true,  Charlotte,  that  my  father  and  your 
grandfather  married  again." 

"  Yes,  uncle." 

"  It  is  also  highly  probable  that  this  y«rang  woman  is  the 
daughter  of  that  marriage.  When  I  saw  her  in  this  room  to 
day  I  was  puzzled  by  an  intangible  likeness  in  her.  This 
accounts  for  it" 

"  Then  why "  began  Charlotte,  and  then  she  stopped. 

There  was  a  whole  world  of  bitterness  in  her  tone. 

"  Sit  down,  child,"  said  her  uncle.  He  pointed  to  a  foot 
stool  at  his  feet.  Whenever  he  came  into  this  room  Char 
lotte  had  occupied  this  footstool,  and  he  wanted  her  to  take 


38  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

it  now,  but  she  would  not;  she  still  kept  her  place  on  the 
hearth. 

"  I  cannot  sit "  she  said.  "  I  am  excited — greatly  ex 
cited.  This  looks  to  me  in  the  light  of  a  wrong." 

"Who  do  you  think  has  commited  the  wrong,  Char 
lotte  ? " 

Before  she  answered,  Charlotte  Harman  lit  a  pair  of  can 
dles  which  stood  on  the  mantelshelf. 

"  There,  now,"  she  said  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  "  I  can  see 
your  face.  It  is  dreadful  to  speak  to  any  one  in  the  dark. 
Uncle  Jasper,  if  I  had  so  near  a  relation  living  all  these 
years  why  was  I  never  told  of  it  ?  I  have  over  and  over 
again  longed  for  a  sister,  and  it  seems  I  had  one.  or  one  who 
might  have  been  to  me  a  sister.  Why  was  I  kept  in  igno 
rance  of  her  very  existence  ?  " 

"  You  are  like  all  women — unreasonable,  Lottie.  I  am 
glad  to  find  you  so  human,  my  dear ;  so  human,  and — and — 
womanly.  You  jump  to  conclusions  without  hearing  reasons. 
Now  I  will  give  you  the  reasons.  But  I  do  wish  you  would 
sit  down." 

"  I  will  sit  here,"  said  Charlotte,  and  she  drew  a  chair 
near  the  table.  The  room  abounded  in  easy-chairs  of  all 
sizes  and  descriptions,  but  she  chose  one  hard  and  made  ot 
cane,  and  she  sat  upright  upon  it,  her  hands  folded  on  her 
lap.  "  flfow,  Uncle  Jasper,"  she  said,  "  I  am  ready  to  hear 
your  reasons/' 

"  They  go  a  good  way  back,  my  dear,  and  I  am  not  clever 
at  telling  a  story  ;  but  I  will  do  my  best.  Your  grandfather 
made  his  money  in  trade ;  he  made  a  good  business,  and  he  put 
your  father  and  me  both  into  it.  It  is  unnecessary  to  go  in 
to  particulars  about  our  special  business  ;  it  was  small  at 
first,  but  we  extended  it  until  it  became  the  great  firm  of 
which  your  father  is  the  present  head.  We  both,  your  father 
and  I,  showed  even  more  aptitude  for  this  life  of  mercantile 
success  than  our  father  did,  and  he,  perceiving  this,  retired 
while  scarcely  an  old  man.  He  made  us  over  the  entire 
business  he  had  made,  taking,  however,  from  it,  for  his  own 
private  use,  a  large  sum  of  money.  On  the  interest  of  this 
money  he  would  live,  promising,  however,  to  return  it  to  us 
at  his  death.  The  money  taken  out  of  the  business  rather 
crippled  us,  and  we  begged  of  him  to  allow  us  to  pay  him 
the  interest,  and  to  let  the  capital  remain  at  our  disposal  ; 
but  he  wished  to  be  completely  his  own  master,  and  he. 
bought  a  place  in  Hertfordshire  out  of  part  of  the  money. 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  ,        39 

{  was  a  year  or  two  afier,  that  he  met  his  second  wife  and 
married  her.  I  don't  pretend,"  continued  Uncle  Jasper, 
"  that  \ve  liked  this  marriage  or  our  stepmother,  We  were 
young  fellows  then,  and  we  thought  our  father  had  done  us 
an  injustice.  The  girl  he  had  chosen  was  an  insipid  little 
thing,  with  just  a  pretty  face,  and  nothing  whatever  else. 
She  was  not  quite  a  lady.  We  saw  her,  and  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  she  was  common — most  unsuited  to  our  father. 
We  also  remembered  our  own  mother ;  and  most  young  men 
feel  pain  at  seeing  any  one  put  into  her  place. 

"  We  expostulated  with  our  father.  He  was  a  fiery  old 
man,  and  hot  words  passed  between  us.  I  won't  repeat  what 
we  all  said,  my  dear,  or  how  bitter  John  and  I  felt  when  we 
rode  away  from  the  old  place  our  father  had  just  purchased. 
One  thing  he  said  as  we  were  going  off. 

"  My  marrying  again  won't  make  any  money  difference 
to  you  two  fellows,  and  I  suppose  I  may  please  myself.' " 

"  I  think  my  grandfather  was  very  unjust,"  said  Charlotte, 
but  nevertheless  a  look  of  relief  stole  over  her  face. 

"  We  went  back  to  our  business,  my  dear,  and  our  father 
married ;  and  when  we  wrote  to  him  he  did  not  answer  our 
letters.*  After  a  time  we  heard  a  son  had  been  born,  and 
then,  shortly  after  the  birth  of  this  child,  the  news  reached 
us,  that  a  lawyer  had  been  summoned  down  to  the  manor- 
house  in  Hertfordshire.  We  supposed  that  our  father  was 
making  provision  for  the  child ;  and  it  seemed  to  us  fair 
enough.  Then  we  saw  the  child's  death  in  the  Times,  and 
shortly  after  the  news  also  came  to  us  that  the  same  lawyer 
had  gone  down  again  to  see  our  father. 

"  After  this,  a  few  years  went  by,  and  we,  busy  with  our 
own  life,  gave  little  heed  to  the  old  man,  who  seemed  to  have 
forgotten  us.  Suddenly  we  were  summoned  to  his  deathbed. 
John,  your  father,  my  dear,  had  always  been  his  favorite. 
On  his  deathbed  he  seemed  to  have  returned  to  the  old 
times,  when  John  was  a  little  fellow.  He  liked  to  have  him 
by  his  side ;  in  short,  he  could  not  bear  to  have  him  out  of 
his  sight.  He  appeared  to  have  forgotten  the  poor,  common 
little  wife  he  had  married,  and  to  live  his  early  days  ovei 
again.  He  died  quite  reconciled  to  us  both,  and  we  held 
his  hand  as  he  breathed  his  last. 

"  To  our  surprise,  my  dear,  we  found  that  he  had  left  us 
every  penny  of  his  fortune.  The  wife  and  baby  girl  were  left 
totally  unprovided  for.  We  were  amazed  !  We  thought  it 
unjust  We  instantly  resolved  to  make  provision  for  her 


4o  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

and  her  baby.  We  did  so.  She  never  wanted  to  the  day  of 
her  death."  ' 

"  She  did  not  starve,"  interrupted  Charlotte,  "  but  you 
shut  her  out,  her  and  her  child,  from  yourselves,  and  from 
me.  Why  did  you  do  this  ? " 

"  My  dear,  you  would  scarcely  speaxin  that  tone  to  your 
father,  and  it  was  his  wish  as  well  as  mine — indeed,  far 
more  his  wish  than  mine.  I  was  on  the  eve  of  going  to  Aus 
tralia,  to  carry  on  a  branch  of  our  trade  there ;  but  he  was 
remaining  at  home.  He  was  not  very  long  married.  You 
don't  remember  your  mother,  Charlotte.  Ah  !  what  a  fine 
young  creature  she  was,  but  proud — proud  of  her  high  birth 
— of  a  thousand  things,  It  would  have  been  intolerable  to 
her  to  associate  with  one  like  my  stepmother.  Your  father 
was  particular  about  his  wife  and  child.  He  judged  it  best 
to  keep  these  undesirable  relations  apart.  I,  for  one,  can 
scarcely  blame  him." 

"  I  will  not  blame  my  father,"  said  Charlotte.  "  Again 
that  look  of  relief  had  stolen  over  her  face.  The  healthy 
tint,  which  was  scarcely  color,  had  returned  to  her  cheek  ; 
and  the  tension  of  her  attitude  was  also  withdrawn,  for  she 
changed  her  seat,  taking  possession  now  of  her  favorite 
easy-chair.  "  But  I  like  Charlotte  Home,"  she  said  after  a 
pause.  "  She  is — whatever  her  mother  may  have  been — 
quite  a  lady.  I  think  it  is  hard  that  when  she  is  so  nearly 
related  to  me  she  should  be  so  poor  and  I  so  rich.  I  will 
speak  to  my  father.  He  asked  me  only  this  morning  what  I 
should  like  as  a  wedding  present.  I  know  what  I  shall  like. 
He  will  give  that  three  thousand  pounds  to  Charlotte  Home. 
The  money  her  mother  had  for  her  life  she  shall  have  for 
ever.  I  know  my  father  won't  refuse  me." 

Charlotte's  eyes  were  on  the  ground,  and  she  did  not  see 
the  dark  expression  which  for  a  moment  passed  over  Jasper 
Harman's  face.  Before  he  answered  her  he  poked  the  fire 
into  a  vigorous  flame. 

"  You  are  a  generous  girl,  Lottie,"  he  said  then.  "  I  ad 
mire  your  spirit.  But  it  is  plain,  my  dear,  that  money  has 
come  as  easily  to  you  as  the  very  air  you  breathe,  or  you 
would  not  speak  of  three  thousand  pounds  in  a  manner  so 
light  as  almost  to  take  one's  breath  away.  But  suppose — 
suppose  the  money  could  be  given,  there  is  another  difficulty. 
To  get  that  money  for  Mrs.  Home,  who,  by  the  way,  has  her 
husband  to  provide  for  her,  you  must  tell  this  tae  to  your 
father — you  must  not  do  that." 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  41 

•'  Why  not  ? "  asked  Charlotte,  opening  her  eyes  wide  in 
urprise. 

"  Simply  because  he  is  ill,  and  the  doctors  have  forbidden 
him  to  be  in  the  least  agitated." 

"  Uncle  J  asper — I  know  he  is  not  well,  but  I  did  not 
hear  this  ;  and  why — why  should  what  I  have  to  say  agitate 
him  ? " 

"  Because  he  cannot  bear  any  allusion  to  the  past.  H« 
loved  his  father  ;  he  cannot  dwell  on  those  years  when  they 
were  estranged.  My  dear,"  continued  old  Uncle  Jasper  "  I 
am  glad  you  came  with  this  tale  to  me — it  would  have  done 
your  father  harm.  The  doctors  hope  soon  to  make  him 
much  better,  but  at  present  he  must  hear  nothing  likely  to 
give  rise  to  gloomy  thoughts  ;  wait  until  he  is  better,  my 
dear.  And  if  you  want  help  for  this  Mrs.  Home,  you  must 
appeal  to  me.  Promise  me  that,  Lottie." 

"  I  will  promise,  certainly,  not  to  injure  my  father,  but  I 
confess  you  puzzle  me." 

"  I  am  truly  sorry,  my  dear.  I  will  think  over  your  tale, 
but  now  I  must  go  to  John.  Will  you  come  with  me  ? " 

"  No,  thanks ;  I  would  rather  stay  here." 

"  Then  we  shall  not  meet  again,  for  in  an  hour  I  am  off 
to  my  club.  Good-night,  my  dear" 

And  Charlotte  could  not  help  noticing  how  soft  and  cat 
like  were  the  footsteps  of  the  old  Australian  uncle  as  he 
stole  away. 


CHAPTER  X. 

JOHN  AND  JASPER  HARMAN. 

JASPAR  HARMAN  was  sixty  years  old  at  this  time,  but  the 
days  of  his  pilgrimage  had  passed  lightly  over  him,  neither 
impairing  his  frame  nor  his  vigor.  At  sixty  years  of  age  he 
could  think  as  clearly,  sleep  as  comfortably,  eat  as  well — 
nay,  even  walk  as  far  as  he  did  thirty  years  ago.  His  life 
in  the  Antipodes  seemed  to  have  agreed  with  him.  It  is 
true  his  hair  was  turning  gray,  and  his  shrewd  face  had  many 
wrinkles  on  it,  but  these  seemed  more  the  effects  of  climate 
than  of  years.  He  looked  like  a  man  whom  no  heart-trouble 


42  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

had  ever  touched  and  in  this  doubtless  lay  the  secret  of  his 
perpetual  youth.  Care  might  sweep  him  very  close,  but  it 
could  not  enter  an  unwelcome  guest  to  sit  on  the  hearth  of 
his  holy  of  holies ;  into  the  innermost  shrine  of  his  being  it 
could  scarcely  find  room  to  enter.  His  was  the  kind  of  na 
ture  to  whom  remorse  even  for  a  sin  committed  must  be  al 
most  unknown.  His  affections  were  not  his  strong  point. 
Most  decidedly  his  intellect  overbalanced  his  heart.  But 
without  an  undue  preponderance  of  heart  he  was  good- 
natured  ;  he  would  pat  a  chubby  little  cheek,  if  he  passed  it 
in  the  street,  and  he  would  talk  in  a  genial  and  hearty  way 
to  those  beneath  him  in  life.  In  business  matters  he  was 
considered  very  shrewd  and  hard,  but  those  who  had  no 
such  dealings  with  him  pronounced  him  a  kindly  soul.  His 
smile  was  genial  ;  his  manner  frank  and  pleasant.  He  had 
one  trick,  however,  which  no  servant  could  bear — his  step 
was  as  soft  as  a  cat's  ;  he  must  be  on  your  heels  before  you 
had  the  faintest  clue  to  his  approach. 

In  this  stealthy  way  he  now  left  his  niece's  room,  stole 
down  the  thickly  carpeted  stairs,  crept  across  a  tiled  hall, 
and  entered  the  apartment  where  his  elder  brother  waited 
for  him. 

John  Harman  was  only  one  year  Jasper's  senior,  but 
there  looked  a  much  greater  difference  between  them. 
Jasper  was  young  for  his  years ;  John  was  old ;  nay,  more — 
he  was  very  old.  In  youth  he  must  have  been  a  handsome 
man ;  in  age  for  every  one  spoke  of  him  as  aged,  he  was 
handsome  still.  He  was  tall,  over  six  feet ;  his  hair  was 
silver-white ;  his  eyes  very  deep  set,  very  dark.  Their  ex 
pression  was  penetrating,  kind,  but  sad.  His  mouth  was 
firm,  but  had  some  lines  round  it  which  puzzled  you.  His 
smile,  which  was  rare  and  seldom  seen,  was  a  wintry  one. 
You  would  rather  John  Harman  did  not  smile  at  you  ;  you 
felt  miserable  afterwards.  All  who  knew  him  said  instinc 
tively  that  John  Harman  had  known  some  great  trouble. 
Most  people  attributed  it  to  the  death  of  his  wife,  but,  as 
this  happened  twenty  years  ago,  others  shook  their  heads 
and  felt  puzzled.  Whatever  the  sorrow,  however,  which  so 
perpetually  clouded  the  fine  old  face,  the  nature  of  the 
man  was  so  essentially  noble  that  he  was  universally  loved 
and  icspected. 

John  Harmon  was  writing  a  letter  when  his  brother  en 
tered.  He  pushed  aside  his  writing  materials,  however,  and 
raised  his  head  with  a  sigh  of  relief.  In  Jasper's  presence 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


43 


there  was  always  one  element  of  comfort.  He  need  cover 
over  no  anxieties ;  his  old  face  looked  almost  sharp  as  he 
wheeled  his  chair  round  to  the  fire. 

"  No,  you  are  not  interrupting  me,"  he  began.  "  This 
letter  can  keep  ;  it  is  not  a  business  one.  I  never  transact 
business  at  home."  Then  he  added,  as  Jasper  sank  into 
the  opposite  chair,  "  You  have  been  having  a  long  chat  with 
the  child.  I  am  glad  she  is  getting  fond  of  you." 

"  She  is  a  fine  girl,"  said  Jasper ;  "  a  fine,  generous  girl. 
I  like  her,  even  though  she  does  dabble  in  literature  ;  and  I 
like  Hinton  too.  When  are  they  to  be  married,  John  ?  " 

"  When  Hinton  gets  his  first  brief — not  before,"  answered 
John  Harman. 

"  Well,  well,  he's  a  clever  chap ;  I  don't  see  why  you 
should  wait  for  that — he's  safe  to  get  on.  If  I  were  you,  I'd 
like  to  see  my  girl  comfortably  settled.  One  can  never  tell 
what  may  happen !  " 

"  What  may  happen ! "  repeated  the  elder  Harman. 
"  Do  you  allude  now  to  the  doctor's  verdict  on  myself.  I 
did  not  wish  Charlotte  acquainted  with  it." 

"  Pooh  !  my  dear  fellow,  there's  nothing  to  alarm  our 
girl  in  that  quarter.  I'd  lay  my  own  life  you  have  many 
long  years  before  you.  No,  Charlotte  knows  you  are  not 
well,  and  that  is  all  she  need  ever  know.  I  was  not  alluding 
to  your  health,  but  to  the  fact  that  that  fine  young  woman 
upstairs  is,  just  to  use  a  vulgar  phrase,  eating  her  own  head 
off  for  want  of  something  better  to  do.  She  is  dabbling  in 
print.  Of  course,  her  book  must  fail.  She  is  full  of  all 
kinds  of  chimerical  expedients.  Why,  this  very  evening  she 
was  propounding  the  most  preposterous  scheme  to  me,  as 
generous  as  it  was  nonsensical.  No,  no,  my  dear  fellow, 
even  to  you  I  won't  betray  confidence.  The  girl  is  an 
enthusiast.  Now  enthusiasts  are  always  morbid  and  unhappy 
unless  they  can  find  vent  for  their  energies.  Why  don't  you  give 
her  the  natural  and  healthy  vents  supplied  by  wifehood  and 
motherhood  ?  Why  do  you  wait  for  Hinton's  first  brief  to  make 
them  happy  ?  You  have  money  enough  to  make  them  happy 
at  once." 

"  Yes,  yes,  Jasper — it  is  not  that.  It  is  just  that  I  want 
the  young  man  not  to  be  altogether  dependent  on  his  wife. 
I  am  fonder  of  Hinton  than  of  any  other  creature  in  the 
world  except  my  own  child.  For  his  sake  I  ask  for  his  short 
delay  to  their  marriage.  On  the  day  he  brings  me  news  of 
that  brief  I  take  the  first  steps  to  settle  on  Charlotte  a 


44 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


thousand  a  year  during  my  lifetime.  I  make  arrangements 
that  her  eldest  son  inherits  the  business,  and  I  make  further 
provision  for  any  other  children  she  may  have." 

"  Well,  my  dear  fellow,  all  that  sounds  very  nice  ;  and  if 
Hinton  was  not  quite  the  man  he  is  I  should  say,  '  Wait  for 
the  brief.'  But  I  believe  that  having  a  wife  will  only  make 
him  seek  that  said  brief  all  the  harder.  I  see  success 
before  that  future  son-in-law  of  yours." 

"  And  you  are  a  shrewd  observer  of  character,  Jasper," 
answered  his  brother. 

Neither  of  the  men  spoke  for  some  time  after  this,  and 
presently  Jasper  rose  to  go.  He  had  all  but  reached  the 
door  when  he  turned  back. 

"  You  will  be  in  good  time  in  the  city  to-morrow,  John." 

"  Yes,  of  course.  Not  that  there  is  anything  very  special 
going  on.  Why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"  Only  that  we  must  give  an  answer  to  that  question  of 
the  trusteeship  to  the  Rutherford  orphans.  I  know  you 
object  to  the  charge,  still  it  seems  a  pity  for  the  sake  of  a 
sentiment." 

Instantly  John  Harman,  who  had  been  crouching  over 
the  fire,  rose  to  his  full  height.  His  deep-set  eyes  flashed, 
his  voice  trembled  with  some  hardly  suppressed  anguish. 

"Jasper  ! "  he  said  suddenly  and  sharply  ;  then  he  added, 
"  you  have  but  one  answer  to  that  question  from  me — never, 
never,  as  long  as  I  live,  shall  our  firm  become  trustees  for  even 
sixpence  worth.  You  know  my  feelings  on  that  point, 
Jasper,  and  they  shall  never  change." 

"  You  are  a  fool  for  your  pains,  then,"  muttered  Jasper, 
but  he  closed  the  door  rather  hastily  behind  him. 


CHAPTER  XI. 
"  A  nrr  DAT." 

AT  breakfast  the  next  morning  Charlotte  Harman  was  in 
almost  wild  spirits.  Her  movements  were  generally  rather 
sedate,  as  befitted  one  so  tall,  so  finely  proportioned,  so 
dignified.  To-day  her  step  seemed  set  to  some  hidden  rhyth 
mic  measure  ;  her  eyes  laughed  her  gracious,  kindly  mouth 


HOW  IT  ALZ,  &xJf£  ROUND.  45 

was  wreathed  ir.  perpetual  sautes.  Her  father,  on  the  con 
trary,  looked  more  bent,  more  careworn,  more  aged  even 
than  usual.  Looking,  however,  into  her  eyes  for  light,  his 
own  brightened.  As  he  ate  bis  frugal  breakfast  of  coffee 
and  dry  toast  he  spoke  : 

"  Charlotte,  your  Uncle  Jasper  came  to  me  last  night 
irith  a  proposal  on  your  behalf." 

"  Yes,  father,"  answered  Charlotte.  She  looked  up  ex 
pectantly.  She  thought  of  Mrs.  Home.  Her  uncle  had 
told  the  tale  after  all,  and  her  dear  and  generous  father,  would 
refuse  her  nothing.  She  should  have  the  great  joy  of  giving 
three  thousand  pounds  to  that  poor  mother  for  the  use  of 
her  little  children. 

The  next  words,  however,  uttered  by  Mr.  Harman  caused 
these  dreams  to  be  dispelled  by  others  more  golden.  The 
most  generous  woman  must  at  times  think  first  of  herself. 
Charlotte  was  very  generous;  but  her  father's  next  words 
brought  dimples  into  very  prominent  play  in  each  cheek. 

"  My  darling,  Jasper  thinks  me  very  cruel  to  postpone 
your  marriage.  I  will  not  postpone  it.  You  and  Hinton 
may  fix  the  day.  I  will  take  that  brief  of  his  on  trust." 

No  woman  likes  an  indefinite  engagement,  and  Charlotte 
was  not  the  exception  to  prove  this  rule. 

"  Dearest  father,"  she  said,  "  I  am  very  happy  at  this.  I 
will  tell  John.  He  is  coming  over  this  morning.  But  you 
know  my  conditions  ?  No  wedding  day  for  me  unless  my 
father  agrees  to  live  with  me  afterwards." 

"  Settle  it  as  you  please,  dear  child.  I  don't  think  there 
would  be  much  sunshine  left  for  me  if  you  were  away  from 
me.  And  now  I  suppose  you  will  be  very  busy.  You  have 
carte  blanche  for  the  trousseau,  but  your  book  ?  will  you  have 
time  to  write  it,  Charlotte  ?  And  that  young  woman  whom  I 
saw  in  your  room  yesterday,  is  she  the  amanuensis  whom 
you  told  me  about  ? " 

"  She  is  the  lady  whom  I  hoped  to  have  secured,  father, 
but  she  is  not  coming." 

"  Not  coming  !  I  rather  liked  her  look,  she  seemed 
quite  a  lady.  Did  you  offer  her  too  small  remuneration  ? 
not  that  that  would  be  your  way,  buf  you  do  not  perhaps 
know  what  such  labor  is  worth." 

"  It  was  not  that,  dear  father.  I  offered  her  what  she 
herself  considered  a  very  handsome  sum.  It  was  not  that. 
She  is  very  poor  i  very  very  poor  and  she  has  three  little 
children.  I  never  saw  such  a  hungry  look  in  any  eyes  as  she 


46  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

had,  when  she  spoke  of  what  money  would  be  to  her.  But 
she  gave  me  a  reason — a  reason  which  I  am  not  at  liberty  to 
tell  to  you,  whichmakes  it  impossible  for  her  to  come  here." 

Charlotte's  cheeks  were  burning  now,  and  something  in 
her  tone  caused  her  father  to  gaze  at  her  attentively.  It  was 
not  his  way,  however,  to  press  for  any  confidence  not  volun 
tarily  offered.  He  rose  from  his  seat  with  a  slight  sigh. 

"  Well,  dear,"  he  said,  "  you  must  look  for  some  one  else. 
We  can't  talk  over  matters  to-night.  Ask  Hinton  to  stay 
and  dine.  There  ;  I  must  be  off,  1  am  very  late  as  it  is." 

Mr.  Harman  kissed  his  daughter  and  she  went  out  as 
usual  to  button  on  his  great-coat  and  see  him  down  the  street 
She  had  performed  this  office  for  him  ever  since — a  little 
mite  of  four  years  old — she  had  tried  to  take  her  dead  mother's 
place.  The  child,  the  growing  girl,  the  young  woman,  had 
all  in  turns  stood  on  those  steps,  and  watched  that  figure 
walking  away.  But  never  until  to-day  had  she  noticed  how 
aged  and  bent  it  had  grown.  For  the  first  time  the  possi 
bility  visited  her  heart  that  there  might  be  such  a  thing 
for  her  in  the  future  as  life  without  her  father. 

Uncle  Jasper  had  said  he  was  not  well ;  no,  he  did  not 
look  well.  Her  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  she  closed  the  hall 
door  and  re-entered  the  house.  But  her  own  prospects  were 
too  golden  just  now  to  permit  her  to  dwell  as  long,  or  as 
anxiously,  as  she  otherwise  would  have  done,  on  so  gloomy  an 
aspect  of  her  father's  case. 

Charlotte  Harman  was  twenty-five  years  of  age ;  but,  ex 
cept  when  her  mother  died,  death  had  never  come  near  her 
young  life.  She  could  scarcely  remember  her  mother,  and,  with 
this  one  exception,  death  and  sickness  were  things  unknown. 
She  has  heard  of  them  of  course ;  but  the  grim  practical 
knowledge,  the  standing  face  to  face  with  the  foe,  were  not  her 
experience.  She  was  the  kind  of  woman  who  could  develop 
into  the  most  tender  nurse,  into  the  wisest,  best,  and  most 
helpful  guide,  through  those  same  dark  roads  of  sickness 
and  death,  but  the  training  for  this  was  all  to  come,  No 
wonder  that  in  her  inexperience  she  should  soon  cease  to 
dwell  on  her  father's  bent  figure  and  drawn,  white  face.  A 
reaction  was  over  her,  and  she  must  yield  to  it. 

As  she  returned  to  the  comfortable  breakfast-room,  her 
eyes  shone  brighter  through  their  momentary  tears.  She 
went  over  and  stood  by  the  hearth.  She  was  a  most  industri 
ous  creature,  having  trained  herself  not  to  waste  an  instant ; 
but  to-day  she  must  indulge  in  a  happy  reverie. 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROV^D.  47 

How  dark  had  been  those  few  hours  ifter  Mrs.  Home 
had  left  her  yesterday  ;  how  undefined,  how  dim,  and  yet  how 
dark  had  been  her  suspicions  !  She  did  not  know  what  to 
think,  or  whom  to  suspect  ;  but  she  felt  that,  cost  her  what 
it  might,  she  must  fathom  the»truth,  and  that  having  once 
fathomed  it,  something  might  be  revealed  to  her  that  would 
embitter  and  darken  her  whole  life. 

And  behold !  she  had  done  so.  She  had  bravely  grasped 
the  phanton  in  both  hands,  and  it  had  vanished  into  thin  air. 
What  she  dreamed  was  not.  There  was  no  disgrace  any 
where.  A  morbid  young  woman  had  conjured  up  a  possible 
tale  of  wrong.  There  was  no  wrong.  She,  Mrs.  Home; 
was  to  be  pitied,  and  Charlotte  would  help  her  ;  but  beyoud 
this  no  dark  or  evil  thing  had  come  into  her  Me. 

And  now,  what  a  great  further  good  was  in  store  for  her  ! 
Her  father  had  most  unexpectedly  withdrawn  his  opposi 
tion  over  the  slight  delay  he  had  insisted  upon  to  her  mar 
riage.  Charlotte  did  not  know  until  now  how  she  had 
chafed  at  this  delay  ;  how  she  had  longed  to  be  the  wife  of 
the  man  she  loved.  She  said,  "  Thank  God  ! "  under  her 
breath,  then  ran  upstairs  to  her  own  room. 

Charlotte's  maid  had  the  special  care  of  this  room.  It 
was  a  sunshiny  morning,  and  the  warm  spring  air  came  in 
through  the  open  window. 

"  Yes,  leave  it  open,"  she  said  to  the  girl  ;  "  it  seems  as 
if  spring  had  really  come  to-day." 

"  But  it  is  winter  still,  madam,  February  is  not  yet  over," 
replied  the  lady's  maid.  "  Better  let  me  shut  it,  Miss  Har- 
man,  this  is  only  a  pet  day." 

"  I  will  enjoy  it  then,  Ward,"  answered  Miss  Harman. 
"  And  now  leave  me,  for  I  am  very  busy." 

The  maid  withdrew,  and  Charlotte  seated  herself  by  her 
writing  table.  She  was  engaged  over  a  novel  which  Messrs. 

M ,  of Street,  had  pronounced  really  good  ;  they 

would  purchase  the  copyright,  and  they  wanted  the  MS.  by 
a  given  date.  How  eager  she  had  felt  about  this  yesterday  ; 
how  determined  not  to  let  anything  interfere  with  its  com 
pletion  !  But  to-day,  she  took  up  her  pen  as  usual,  read 
over  the  last  page  she  had  written,  then  sat  quiet,  waiting 
for  inspiration. 

What  was  the  matter  with  her  ?  No  thought  came.  As 
a  rule  thoughts  flowed  freely,  proceeding  fast  from  the  brain 
to  the  pen,  from  the  pen  to  the  paper.  But  to-day  ?  What 
ailed  her  to-day  ?  The  fact  was,  the  most  natural  thing  in 


48  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

the  world  had  come  to  stop  the  flow  of  fiction.  It  was  put 
out  by  a  greater  fire.  The  moon  could  shine  brilliantly  at 
night  but  how  sombre  it  looked  beside  the  sun  !  The  great 
sunshi  ne  of  her  own  personal  joy  was  flooding  Charlotte's 
heart  to-day,  and  the  griefs  and  delights  of  the  most  attrac 
tive  heroine  in  the  world  must  sink  into  insignificance  beside 
it.  She  sat  waiting  for  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  then 
threw  down  her  pen  in  disgust.  She  pulled  out  her  watch. 
Hinton  could  not  be  with  her  before  the  afternoon.  The 
morning  was  glorious.  What  had  Ward,  her  maid,  called  the 
day  ? — "  a  pet  day."  Well,  she  would  enjoy  it ;  she  would 
go  out.  She  ran  to  her  room,  enveloped  herself  in  some  rich 
and  becoming  furs,  and  went  into  the  street.  She  walked  on 
a  little  way,  rather  undecided  where  to  turn  her  steps.  In 
an  instant  she  could  have  found  herself  in  Kensington  Gar 
dens  or  Hyde  Park  ;  but,  just  because  they  were  so  easy  of 
access,  they  proved  unattractive.  She  must  wander  farther 
afield.  She  beckoned  to  a  passing  hansom. 

"  I  want  to  go  somewhere  where  I  shall  have  green  grass 
and  trees,"  she  said  to  the  cabby.  "  No,  it  must  not  be 
Hyde  Park,  somewhere  farther  off." 

"  There's  the  Regent's,"  replied  the  man.  "  I'll  drive 
yer  there  and  back  wid  pleasure,  my  lady." 

"  I  will  go  to  Regent's  Park,"  said  Charlotte.  She  made 
up  her  mind,  as  she  was  swiftly  bowled  along,  that  she  would 
walk  back.  She  was  just  in  that  condition  of  suppressed  ex 
citement,  when  a  walk  would  be  the  most  delightful  safety- 
valve  in  the  world. 

In  half  an  hour  she  found  herself  in  Regent's  Park  and, 
having  dismissed  her  cab,  wandered  about  amongst  the  trees. 
The  whole  place  was  flooded  with  sunshine.  There  were  no 
flowers  visible  ;  the  season  had  been  too  bad,  and  the  year 
was  yet  too  young ;  but  for  all  that,  nature  seemed  to  be 
awake  and  listening. 

Charlotte  walked  about  until  she  felt  tired,  then  she  sat 
down  on  one  of  the  many  seats  to  rest  until  it  was  time  to 
return  home.  Children  were  running  about  everywhere. 
Charlotte  loved  children.  Many  an  afternoon  had  she  gone 
into  Kensington  Gardens  for  the  mere  and  sole  purpose  of 
watching  them.  Here  were  children,  too,  as  many  as  there, 
but  of  a  different  class.  Not  quite  so  aristrocratic,  not  quite 
so  exclusively  belonging  to  the  world  of  rank  and  fashion. 
The  children  in  Regent's  Park  were  certainly  quite  as  well 
dressed ;  but  there  was  just  some  little  indescribable  thing 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


49 


missing  in  them,  which  the  little  creatures,  whom  Charlotte 
Harman  was  most  accustomed  to  notice,  possessed. 

She  was  commenting  on  this,  in  that  vague  and  slight 
way  one  does  when  all  their  deepest  thoughts  are  elsewhere, 
when  a  man  came  near  and  shared  her  seat.  He  was  a  tall 
man,  very  slight,  very  thin.  Charlotte,  just  glancing  at  him 
took  in  this  much  also,  that  he  was  a  clergyman.  He  sat 
down  to  rest,  evidently  doing  so  from  great  fatigue.  Selfish 
in  her  happiness,  Charlotte  presently  returned  to  her  golden 
dreams.  The  children  came  on  fast,  group  after  group ; 
some  pale  and  thin,  some  rosy  and  healthy  ;  a  few  scantily 
clothed,  a  few  overladen  with  finery.  They  laughed  and 
scampered  past  her.  For,  be  the  circumstances  what  they 
might,  all  the  little  hearts  seemed  full  of  mirth  and  sweet 
content.  At  last  a  very  small  nurse  appeared,  wheeling  a 
perambulator,  while  two  children  ran  by  her  side.  These 
children  were  dressed  neatly,  but  with  no  attempt  at  fashion. 
The  baby  in  the  shabby  perambulator  was  very  beautiful. 
The  little  group  were  walking  past  rather  more  slowly  than 
most  of  the  other  groups,  for  the  older  boy  and  girl  looked 
decidedly  tired,  when  suddenly  they  all  stopped ;  the  servant 
girl  opened  her  mouth  until  it  remained  fixed  in  the  form  of  a 
round  O;  the  baby  raised  its  arms  and  crowed ;  the  elder  boy 
and  girl  uttered  a  glad  shout  and  ran  forward. 

"  Father,  father,  you  here  ?  said  the  boy.  "  You  here  ?  " 
echoed  the  girl,  and  the  whole  cavalcade  drew  up  in  front  of 
Charlotte  and  the  thin  clergyman.  The  boy  in  an  instant 
was  on  his  father's  knee,  and  the  girl,  helping  herself  might 
ily  by  Charlotte's  dress,  had  got  on  the  bench. 

The  baby  seeing  this  began  to  cry.  The  small  nurse 
seemed  incapable  of  action,  and  Charlotte  herself  had  to  come 
to  the  rescue.  She  lifted  the  little  seven  months  old  crea 
ture  out  of  its  carriage,  and  placed  it  in  its  father's  arms. 

He  raised  his  eyes  gratefully  to  her  face  and  placed  his 
arm  round  the  baby. 

"  Oh  !  I'm  falling,"  said  the  girl.  *  This  seat  is  so  slip 
py,  may  I  sit  on  your  knee  ? " 

It  seemed  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world  for  Char 
lotte  to  take  this  strange, shabbily  dressed  little  girl  into  her 
embrace. 

The  child  began  to  stroke  down  and  admire  her  soft 
furs. 

"  Aren't  they  lovely  ? "  she  said.  "  Oh,  Harold,  look  I 
Feel  'em,  Harold  ;  they're  like  pussies.'' 


5o  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

Harold,  absorbed  with  his  father,  turned  his  full  blue  eyes 
round  gravely  and  fixed  them  not  on  the  furs,  but  on  the 
strange  lady's  face. 

"  Father,"  he  said  in  a  slow,  solemn  tone,  "  may  I  kiss 
that  pretty  lady?" 

"  My  dear  boy,  no,  no.  I  am  ashamed  of  you.  Now  run 
away,  children ;  go  on  with  your  walk.  Nurse,  take  baby." 

The  children  were  evidently  accustomed  to  implicit  obedi 
ence.  They  went  without  a  word. 

"  But  I  will  kiss  Harold  first,"  said  Charlotte  Harman, 
and  she  stooped  down  and  pressed  her  lips  to  the  soft  round 
cheek. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  clergyman.  Again  he  looked 
into  her  face  and  smiled. 

The  smile  on  his  careworn  face  reminded  Charlotte  of 
the  smile  on  St.  Stephen's  face,  when  he  was  dying.  It 
was  unearthly,  angelic ;  but  it  was  also  very  fleeting.  Pres 
ently  he  added  in  a  grave  tone, — 

"  You  have  evidently  the  great  gift  o/  attracting  the 
heart  of  a  little  child.  Pardon  me  if  I  add  a  hope  that 
you  may  never  lose  it." 

"  Is  that  possible  ? "  asked  Charlotte. 

"  Yes ;  when  you  lose   the    child   spirit,  the  power  will 

go." 

"  Oh  1  then  I  hope  it  never  will,"  she  replied. 

"  It  never  will  if  you  keep  the  Christ  bright  within  you," 
he  answered.  Then  he  raised  his  hat  to  her,  smiled  again, 
and  walked  away. 

He  was  a  strange  man,  and  Charlotte  felt  attracted  as 
well  as  repelled.  She  was  proud,  and  at  another  time  and 
from  other  lips  such  words  would  have  been  received  with 
disdain.  But  this  queer,  shadowy-looking  clergyman  looked 
like  an  unearthly  visitant.  She  watched  his  rather  weak 
footsteps,  as  he  walked  quietly  away  in  the  northern  di 
rection  through  the  park.  Then  she  got  up  and  prepared 
to  return  home.  But  this  little  incident  had  sobered  her. 
She  was  not  unhappy ;  but  she  now  felt  very  grave.  The 
child  spirit !  She  must  keep  it  alive,  and  the  Christ  must 
dwell  bright  within  her. 

Charlotte's  temperament  was  naturally  religious.  Her 
nature  was  so  frank  and  noble  that  she  could  not  but 
drink  in  the  good  as  readily  as  the  flower  receives  the 
dew  ;  but  she  had  come  to  this  present  fulness  of  her  youth- 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  5! 

tul  vigor  without  one  trial  being  sent  to  test  the  gold.  She 
entered  the  house  after  her  long  walk  to  find  Hinton  waiting 
or  her. 


CHAPTER  XIL 

FOUR   MONTHS   HENCK. 

HINTON  had  gone  away  the  day  before  rather  disturbed 
by  Charlotte's  manner.  He  had  found  her,  for  the  first  time 
since  their  betrothal,  in  trouble.  Wishing  to  comfort,  she 
had  repelled  him.  He  was  a  strong  man,  as  strong  in 
his  own  way  as  Charlotte  was  in  hers,  and  this  power  of  stand 
ing  alone  scarcely  pleased  him  in  her.  His  was  the  kind  of 
nature  which  would  be  supposed  to  take  for  its  other  half 
one  soft  and  clinging.  Contrary  to  the  established  rule, 
however,  he  had  won  this  proud  and  stately  Charlotte.  She 
thought  him  perfection :  he  was  anything  but  that.  But 
he  had  good  points,  there  was  nothing  mean  or  base  about 
him.  There  were  no  secrets  hidden  away  in  his  life.  His 
was  an  honorable  and  manly  nature.  But  he  had  one 
little  fault,  running  like  a  canker  through  the  otherwise 
healthy  fruit  of  his  heart.  While  Charlotte  was  frank 
and  open  as  the  day,  he  was  reserved ;  not  only  reserved, 
but  suspicious.  All  the  men  who  knew  Hinton  said  what  a 
capital  lawyer  he  would  make,  he  had  all  the  qualities  neces 
sary  to  insure  success  in  his  profession.  Above  all  things 
in  the  world  secrets  oppressed,  irritated,  and  yet  interested 
him.  Once  having  heard  of  any  little  possible  mystery,  he 
could  not  rest  until  it  was  solved. 

This  had  been  his  character  from  a  boy.  His  own 
brothers  and  sisters  had  confided  in  him,  not  because  they 
found  him  particularly  sympathetic,  or  particularly  clever , 
not  because  they  loved  him  so  much,  but  simply  because 
they  could  not  help  themselves.  John  would  have  found  out 
all  the  small  childish  matter  without  their  aid ;  it  was  better, 
safer  to  take  him  into  confidence.  Then,  to  do  him  justice, 
he  was  true  as  steel ;  for  though  he  must  discover,  he  would 
scorn  to  betray. 

On  the  white,  untroubled  sheet  of  Charlotte  Harmon's 


5,  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

heart  no  secrets  yet  had  been  written.  Consequently, 
though  she  had  been  engaged  for  many  months  to  John  Hin- 
ton,  she  had  never  found  out  this  peculiarity  about  him. 
Those  qualities  of  openness  and  frankness,  so  impossible  to 
his  own  nature,  had  attracted  him  most  of  all  to  this  beauti 
ful  young  woman.  Never  until  yesterday  had  there  been 
breath  or  thought  of  concealment  about  her.  But  then — then 
he  had  found  her  in  trouble.  Full  of  sympathy  he  had  drawn 
near  to  comfort,  and  she  had  repelled  him.  She  had  heard 
of  something  which  troubled  her,  which  troubled  her  to  such 
an  extent  that  the  very  expression  of  her  bright  face  had 
changed,  and  yet  this  something  was  to  be  a  secret  from  him 
— true,  only  until  the  following  day,  but  a  whole  twenty-four 
hours  seemed  like  for  ever  to  Hinton  in  his  tmpatience.  Be 
fore  hecould  even  expostulate  with  her  she  had  run  off, 
doubtless  to  confide  her  care  to  another.  Perhaps  the  best 
way  to  express  John  Hinton's  feelings  would  be  to  say  that 
he  was  very  cross  as  he  returned  to  his  chambers  in  Lincoln's 
Inn. 

All  that  evening,  through  his  dreams  all  that  night,  all 
the  following  morning  as  he  tried  to  engage  himself  over  his 
law  books,  he  pondered  on  Charlotte's  secret.  Such  ponder 
ing  must  in  a  nature  like  his  excite  apprehension.  He  ar 
rived  on  the  next  day  at  the  house  in  Prince's  Gate  with  his 
mind  full  of  gloomy  forebodings.  His  face  was  so  grave  that 
it  scarcely  cleared  up  at  the  sight  of  the  bright  one  raised  to 
meet  it.  He  was  full  of  the  secret  of  yesterday ;  Charlotte, 
in  all  the  joy  of  the  secret  of  to-day,  had  already  forgotten  it. 

"  Oh,  I  have  had  such  a  walk  ! "  she  exclaimed  ;  "  and  a 
little  bit  of  an  adventure — a  pretty  adventure ;  and  now  I  am 
starving.  Come  into  the  dining-room  and  have  some  lunch." 

"  You  look  very  well,"  answered  her  lover,  "  and  I  left 
you  so  miserable  yesterday  !  " 

*'  Yesterday !  repeated  Charlotte  ;  she  had  forgotten 
yesterday.  "  Oh,  yes,  I  had  heard  something  very  disagree- 
abl: :  but  when  I  looked  into  the  matter,  it  turned  out  to  be 
nothing." 

"  You  will  tell  me  all  about  it,  dear  ? " 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,  John.  I  would  of  course  if  there 
was  anything  to  tell ;  but  do  come  and  have  some  lunch,  I 
cannot  even  mention  something  «lse  much  more  important 
until  I  have  had  some  lunch." 

John  Hinton  frowned.  Even  that  allusion  to  something 
much  more  important  di^  not  satisfy  him.  He  must  know 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  53 

this  other  thing.  What  !  spend  twenty-four  hours  of  misery, 
and  not  learn  what  it  was  all  about  in  the  end  !  Charlotte's 
happiness,  however,  could  not  but  prove  infectious,  and  the 
two  made  merry  over  their  meal,  and  not  until  they  found 
themselves  in  Charlotte's  own  special  sanctum  did  Hinton 
resume  his  grave  manner.  Then  he  began  at  once. 

"  Now,  Charlotte,  you  will  tell  me  why  you  looked  so 
grave  and  scared  yesterday.  I  have  been  miserable  enough 
thinking  of  it  ever  since.  I  don't  understand  why  you  did 
not  confide  in  me  at  once/' 

"  Dear  John,"  she  said — she  saw  now  that  he  had  been 
really  hurt — "  I  would  not  give  you  pain  for  worlds,  my  dearest. 
Yes,  I  was  much  perplexed,  I  was  even  very  unhappy  for  the 
time.  A  horrid  doubt  had  been  put  into  my  head,  but  it 
turned  out  nothing,  nothing  whatever.  Let  us  forget  it,  dear 
John ;  I  have  something  much  more  important  to  tell  you." 

"  Yes,  afterwards,  but  you  will  tell  me  this,  even  though 
it  did  turn  out  of  no  consequence." 

"  Please,  John  dear,  I  would  rather  not.  I  was  assailed 
by  a  most  unworthy  suspicion.  It  turned  out  nothing,  nothing 
at  all.  I  would  rather,  seeing  it  was  all  a  myth,  you  never 
knew  of  it." 

"  And  I  would  rather  know,  Charlotte ;  the  myth  shall  be 
dismissed  from  mind,  too,  but  I  would  rather  be  in  your  full 
confidence." 

"  My  full  confidence  ? "  she  repeated ;  the  expression 
pained  her.  She  looked  hard  at  Hinton ;  his  words  were 
very  quietly  spoken,  but  there  was  a  cloud  on  his  brow.  "  You 
shall  certainly  have  my  full  confidence,"  she  said  after  that 
brief  pause  ;  "  which  will  you  hear  first,  what  gave  me  pain 
yesterday,  or  what  brings  me  joy  to-day  ? " 

"  What  gave  you  pain  yesterday." 

There  is  no  doubt  she  had  hoped  he  would  have  made  the 
latter  choice,  but  seeing  he  did  not  she  submitted  at  once, 
sitting,  not  as  was  her  wont  close  to  his  side,  but  on  a  chair 
opposite.  Hinton  sat  with  his  back  to  the  light,  but  it  fell 
full  on  Charlotte,  and  he  could  see  every  line  of  her  innocent 
and  noble  face  as  she  told  her  tale.  Having  got  to  tell  it, 
she  did  so  in  few  but  simple  words  ;  Mrs.  Home's  story  com 
ing  of  a  necessity  first,  her  Uncle  Jasper's  explanation  last. 
When  the  whole  tale  was  told,  she  paused,  then  said, — 

"  You  see  there  was  nothing  in  it." 

"  I  see,"  answered  Hinton.  This  was  his  first  remark.  He 
had  not  interrupted  the  progress  of  the  narrative  by  a  singk 


54 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


observation  ;  then  he  added,  "But  I  think,  if  even  youi 
father  does  not  feel  disposed  to  help  her,  that  we,  you  and  I, 
Charlotte,  ought  to  do  something  for  Mrs.  Home." 

"  Oh,  John  dear,  how  you  delight  me  !  How  good  and 
noble  you  are  !  Yes,  my  heart  aches  for  that  poor  mother  ; 
yes,  we  will  help  her.  You  and  I,  how  very  delightful  it  will 
bel" 

Now  she  came  close  to  her  lover  and  kissed  him,  and  he 
returned  her  embrace. 

"  You  will  never  have  a  secret  again  from  me,  my  dar 
ling  ?  "  he  said. 

"  I  never,  never  had  one,"  she  answered,  for  it  was  im 
possible  for  her  to  understand  that  this  brief  delay  in  her 
confidence  could  be  considered  a  secret.  "  Now  for  my 
other  news,"  she  said. 

"  Now  for  your  other  news,"  he  repeated. 

"  John,  what  is  the  thing  you  desire  most  in  the  world  ? " 

Of  course  this  young  man  being  sincerely  attached  to 
this  young  woman,  answered, — 

"You,  Charlotte." 

"John,  you  always  said  you  did  not  like  Uncle  Jasper, 
but  see  what  a  good  turn  he  has  done  us — he  has  persuaded 
my  father  to  allow  us  to  marry  at  once." 

"  What,  without  my  brief  ?  " 

"  Yes,  without  your  brief ;  my  dear  father  told  me  this 
morning  that  we  may  fix  the  day  whenever  we  like.  He 
says  he  will  stand  in  the  way  no  longer.  He  is  quite  sure  of 
that  brief,  we  need  not  wait  to  be  happy  for  it,  we  may  fix 
our  wedding-day,  John,  and  you  are  to  dine  here  this  evening 
and  have  a  talk  with  my  father  afterwards." 

Hinton's  face  had  grown  red.  He  was  a  lover,  and  an 
attached  one  ;  but  so  diverse  were  the  feelings  stirred  within 
him,  tnat  for  the  moment  he  felt  more  excited  than  elated. 

"  Your  father  is  very  good,"  he  said,  "  he  gives  us  leave 
to  fix  the  day.  Very  well,  that  is  your  province,  my  Lottie  ; 
when  shall  it  be  ?  " 

"  This  is  the  twentieth  of  February,  our  wedding-day 
shall  be  on  the  twentieth  of  June,"  she  replied. 

"  That  is  four  months  hence,"  he  said.  In  spite  of  him 
self  there  was  a  sound  of  relief  in  his  tone.  "  Very  well, 
Charlotte  ;  yes,  I  will  come  and  dine  this  evening.  But  now 
I  am  late  for  an  appointment ;  we  will  have  a  long  talk  after 
dinner." 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

HIS    FIRST    BRIEF. 

HINTON,  when  he  left  Charlotte,  went  straight  back  to  his 
chambers.  He  had  no  particular  work  to  hurry  him  there  ; 
indeed,  when  he  left  that  morning  he  had  done  so  with  the 
full  intention  of  spending  the  entire  afternoon  with  his  be 
trothed.  He  was,  as  has  been  said,  although  a  clever,  yet 
certainly  at  present  a  briefless  young  barrister.  Neverthe 
less,  had  twenty  briefs  awaited  his  immediate  attention,  he 
could  not  have  more  rapidly  hurried  back  as  he  now  did. 
When  he  entered  his  rooms  he  locked  the  outer  door.  Then 
he  threw  himself  on  a  chair,  drew  the  chair  to  his  writing- 
ing  table,  pushed  his  hands  through  his  thick  hair,  and  star 
ing  hard  at  a  blank  sheet  of  paper  which  lay  before  him  be 
gan  to  think  out  a  problem.  His  might  scarcely  have  been 
called  a  passionate  nature,  but  it  was  one  capable  of  a  very 
deep,  very  real  attachment.  This  attachment  had  been 
formed  for  Charlotte  Harmon.  Their  engagement  had  al 
ready  lasted  nearly  a  year,  and  now  with  her  own  lips  she 
had  told  him  that  it  might  end,  that  the  end,  the  one  happy 
end  to  all  engagements,  was  in  sight.  With  comfort,  nay, 
with  affluence,  with  the  full  consent  all  her  friends,  they 
might  become  man  and  wife.  John  Hinton  most  undoubted 
ly  loved  this  woman,  and  yet  now  as  he  reviewed  the  whole 
position  the  one  pleasure  he  could  deduct  for  his  own  reflec 
tion  was  in  the  fact  that  there  was  four  months'  reprieve. 
Charlotte  had  herself  postponed  their  wedding-day  for  four 
months. 

Hinton  was  a  proud  man.  When,  a  year  ago,  he  h&i 
gone  to  Mr.  Harman  and  asked  him  for  his  daughter,  Mr. 
Harman  had  responded  with  the  very  natural  question, 
"  What  means  have  you  to  support  her  with  ?  " 

Hinton  had  answered  that  he  had  two  hundred  a  year — 
and — his  profession. 

"  What  are  you  making  In  your  profession  ?  "  asked  the 
father. 

"  Not  anything — yet,"  answered  the  young  man. 


56  ffOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

"  There  was  a  tone  of  defiance  and  withal  of  hope  thrown 
into  that  "  yet  "  which  might  have  repelled  some  men,  but 
pleased  Mr.  Harman.  He  paused  to  consider.  He  might 
have  got  a  much,  much  better  match  for  Charlotte  from  a 
temporal  standpoint.  Hinton  was  of  no  family  in  particular ; 
he  had  no  money  worthy  of  the  name.  He  was  simply  an 
honest  fellow,  fairly  good-looking,  and  with  the  heart  of  a 
gentleman. 

*  You  are  doubtless  aware,"  replied  Mr.  Harman,  "  that 
my  daughter  will  inherit  a  very  large  fortune.  She  has  been 
sought  for  in  marriage  before  now,  and  by  men  who  could 
give  something  to  meet  what  she  brings,  both  with  regard  to 
money  and  position." 

"  I  have  heard  of  Mr.  S'.s  proposal,"  answered  Hinton. 

"  I  know  he  is  rich,  and  the  son  of  Lord ;  but  that  is 

nothing,  for  she  does  not  love  him." 

"  And  you  believe  she  loves  you  ?  " 

"  Most  certainly  she  loves  me." 

In  spite  of  himself  Mr.  Harman  smiled,  then  after  a  little 
more  thought,  for  he  was  much  taken  with  Hinton,  he  came 
to  terms. 

He  must  not  have  Charlotte  while  he  had  nothing  to  sup 
port  her  with.  Pooh  !  that  two  hundred  a  year  was  nothing 
to  a  girl  brought  up  like  his  daughter.  For  Hinton's  own 
sake  it  would  not  be  good  for  him  to  live  on  his  wife's  money  ; 
but  when  he  obtained  his  first  brief  then  they  might  marry. 

Hinton  was  profuse  in  thanks.  He  only  made  on  his 
part  one  stipulation — that  brief,  which  was  to  obtain  for  him 
his  bride,  was  in  no  way  to  come  to  him  through  Mr.  Har- 
man's  influence.  He  must  win  it  by  his  own  individual  ex 
ertion. 

Mr  Harman  smiled  and  grew  a  trifle  red.  In  his  busi 
ness  capacity  he  could  have  put  twenty  briefs  in  this  young 
fellow's  way,  and  in  his  inmost  heart  he  had  resolved  to  do 
so  ;  but  he  liked  him  all  the  better  for  this  one  proviso,  and 
promised  readily  enough. 

Hinton  had  no  business  connections  of  his  own.  He  had 
no  influential  personal  friends,  and  his  future  father-in-law 
felt  bound  in  honor  to  leave  him  altogether  to  his  own  re 
sources.  A  year  had  nearly  passed  since  the  engagement, 
and  the  brief  which  was  to  win  him  Charlotte  was  as  far 
away  as  ever.  But  now  she  told  him  that  this  one  embargo 
to  their  happiness  had  been  withdrawn.  They  might  marry, 
and  the  brief  would  follow  after.  Hinton  knew  well  what  it 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


57 


all  meant.  The  rich  city  merchant  could  then  put  work  in 
his  way.  Work  would  quickly  pour  in  to  the  man  so  closely 
connected  with  rich  John  Harman.  Yes.  As  he  sat  by  his 
table  in  his  small  shabbily  furnished  room,  he  knew  that  his 
fortune  was  made.  He  would  obtain  Charlotte  and  Charlotte's 
wealth  ;  and  if  he  but  chose  to  use  his  golden  opportunities, 
fame  too  might  be  his  portion.  He  was  a  keen  and  ardent  poli 
tician,  and  a  seat  in  the  House  might  easily  follow  all  the  other 
good  things  which  seemed  following  in  his  track.  Yes ;  but 
he  was  a  proud  man,  and  he  did  not  like  it.  He  had  not  the 
heart  to  tell  Charlotte  to-day,  as  she  looked  at  him  with 
all  the  love  she  had  so  freely  given  shining  in  her  sweet 
and  tender  face,  that  he  would  not  accept  such  terms,  that 
the  original  bargain  must  yet  abide  in  force.  He  could  not 
say  to  this  young  woman  when  she  came  to  him,  "  I  do  not 
want  you."  But  none  the  less,  as  he  now  sat  by  his  writing- 
table,  was  he  resolved  that  unless  his  brief  was  won  before 
the  twentieth  of  June  it  should  bring  no  wedding-day  to  him. 
This  was  why  he  rejoiced  in  the  four  months'  reprieve.  But 
this  was  by  no  means  his  only  perplexity.  Had  it  been,  so 
stung  to  renewed  action  was  his  sense  of  pride  and  indepen 
dence,  that  he  would  have  gone  at  once  to  seek,  perhaps  to 
obtain  work  ;  but  something  else  was  lying  like  wormwood 
against  his  heart.  That  story  of  Mrs.  Home's  !  That  ex 
planation  of  Jasper  Harman's  !  The  story  was  a  queer  one  ; 
the  explanation,  while  satisfying  the  inexperienced  girl,  failed 
to  meet  the  requirements  of  the  acute  lawyer.  Hinton  saw 
flaws  in  Jasper's  narrative,  where  Charlotte  saw  none.  The 
one  great  talent  of  his  life,  if  it  could  be  called  a  talent,  was 
coming  fiercely  into  play  as  he  sat  now  and  thought  about  it 
all.  He  had  pre-eminently  the  gift  of  discovering  secrets. 
He  was  rooting  up  many  things  from  the  deep  grave  of  the 
hidden  past  now.  That  look  of  care  on  Mr.  Harman's  face, 
how  often  it  had  puzzled  him  !  He  had  never  liked  Jasper ; 
indefinite  had  been  his  antipathy  hitherto,  but  it  was  taking 
definite  form  now.  There  was  a  secret  in  the  past  of  that 
most  respectable  firm,  and  he,  John  Hinton,  would  give  him 
self  no  rest  until  he  had  laid  it  bare.  No  wedding-day  could 
come  to  him  and  Charlotte  until  his  mind  was  at  rest  on  this 
point.  It  was  against  his  interest  to  ferret  out  this  hidden 
thing,  but  that  fact  weighed  as  nothing  with  him.  It  would 
bring  pain  to  the  woman  he  loved  ;  it  might  ruin  her  father ; 
but  the  pain  and  the  ruin  would  be  inflicted  unsparingly  by 


$8  HOW  IT  ALL  CAM  ROUND. 

his  righteous  young  hand,  which  knew  nothing  yet  cf  mercy 
but  was  all  for  justice,  and  justice  untempered  with  mercy  if 
a  terrible  weapon.  This  Hinton  was  yet  to  learn. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

LODGINGS   IN   KENTISH   TOWN. 

AFTER  a  time,  restless  from  the  complexity  of  his  mus 
ings,  Hinton  went  out.  He  had  promised  to  return  to  the 
Harmans  for  dinner,  but  their  hour  for  dinner  was  eight 
o'clock,  and  it  still  wanted  nearly  three  hours  of  that  time. 
As  Charlotte  had  done  before  that  day,  he  found  himself  in 
the  close  neighborhood  of  Regent's  Park.  He  would  have 
gone  into  the  park,  but  that  he  knew  that  the  hour  of  closing 
the  gates  at  this  early  period  of  the  year  must  be  close  at 
hand ;  he  walked,  therefore,  by  the  side  of  the  park,  rather 
aimlessly  it  is  true,  not  greatly  caring,  provided  he  kept  mov 
ing,  in  what  direction  his  footsteps  took  him. 

At  last  he  found  himself  on  the  broad  tram  line  which 
leads  to  the  suburb  of  Kentish  Town.  It  was  by  no  means 
an  interesting  neighborhood.  But  Hinton,  soon  lost  in  his 
private  and  anxious  musings,  went  on.  At  last  he  left  the 
public  thoroughfare  and  turned  down  a  private  road.  There 
were  no  shops  here,  nor  much  traffic.  He  felt  a  sense  of  re 
lief  at  leaving  the  roar  and  bustle  behind  him.  TKis  road 
on  which  he  had  now  entered  was  flanked  at  each  side  by  a 
small  class  of  dwelling-houses,  some  shabby  and  dirty,  some 
bright  and  neat ;  all,  however,  were  poor-looking.  It  was 
quite  dusk  by  this  time,  and  the  gas  had  been  already  lit. 
This  fact,  perhaps,  was  the  reason  which  drew  Hinton's 
much-preoccupied  attention  to  a  trivial  circumstance. 

In  one  of  these  small  houses  a  young  woman,  who  had 
previously  lit  the  gas,  stepped  to  the  window  and  proceeded 
to  paste  a  card  to  the  pane.  There  was  a  gas  lamp  also  di 
rectly  underneath,  and  Hinton,  raising  his  eyes,  saw  very  dis 
tinct^,  not  only  the  little  act,  but  also  the  words  on  the  card, 
They  were  the  very  common  words 

APARTMENTS  TO  LKT 
INQUIRE  WITHIN." 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


Sf 


Hiuton  suddenly  drew  up  short  on  the  pavement.  He 
did  not  live  in  his  chambers,  and  it  occurred  to  him  that  here 
he  would  be  within  a  walk  of  Regent's  Park.  In  short,  that 
these  shabby-looking  little  lodgings  might  suit  him  for  the 
next  few  uncertain  months.  As  suddenly  as  he  had  stopped, 
and  the  thought  had  come  to  him,  he  ran  up  the  steps  and  rang 
the  bell.  In  a  moment  or  two  a  little  servant-maid  opened 
the  door.  She  was  neither  a  clean  nor  a  tidy-looking  ma  d, 
and  Hinton,  fastidious  on  such  matters,  took  in  this  fact  at  a 
glance.  Nevertheless  the  desire  to  find  for  himselr  a  habi 
tation  in  this  shabby  little  house  did  not  leave  him. 

"  I  saw  a  card  up  in  your  window.  You  have  rooms  to 
let,"  he  said  to  the  little  maid. 

"  Oh,  yes,  indeed,  please,  sir,"  answered  the  servant  with 
a  broad  and  delighted  grin.  "  'Tis  h'our  drawing-rooms, 
please,  sir ;  and  ef  you'll  please  jest  come  inter  the  'all  I'll 
run  and  tell  missis." 

Hinton  did  so ;  and  in  another  moment  the  maid,  return 
ing,  asked  him  to  step  this  way. 

This  way  led  him  into  a  dingy  little  parlor,  and  face  to 
face  with  a  young  woman  who,  pale,  self-possessed,  and  lady 
like,  rose  to  meet  him.  Hinton  felt  the  color  rising  to  his 
face  at  sight  of  her.  He  also  experienced  a  curious  and  sud 
den  constriction  of  his  heart,  and  an  overawed  sense  of  some 
special  Providence  leading  him  here.  For  he  had  seen  this 
young  woman  before.  She  was  Charlotte  Home.  In  his 
swift  glance,  however,  he  saw  that  she  did  not  recognize 
him.  His  resolve  was  taken  on  the  instant.  However  un 
comfortable  the  rooms  she  had  to  offer,  they  should  be  his 
His  interest  in  this  Mrs.  Home  became  intensified  to  a  de 
gree  that  was  painful.  He  knew  that  he  was  about  to  pursuo 
a  course  which  would  be  to  his  own  detriment,  but  he  felt  it 
impossible  now  to  turn  aside.  In  a  quiet  voice,  and  utterly 
unconscious  of  this  tumult  in  his  breast,  she  asked  him  to  be 
seated,  and  they  began  to  discuss  the  accommodation  she 
could  offer. 

Her  back  and  front  drawing-rooms  would  be  vacant  in  a 
week.  Yes,  certainly ;  Mr.  Hinton  could  see  them.  She 
rang  the  bell  as  she  spoke,  and  the  maid  appearing,  took 
Hinton  up  stairs.  The  rooms  were  even  smaller  and 
shabbier  than  he  had  believed  possible.  Nevertheless,  when 
he  came  downstairs  he  found  no  fault  with  anything,  and 
agreed  to  the  terms  asked,  namely,  one  guinea  a  week.  He 
noticed  a  tremor  in  the  young,  brave  voice  which  asked  foi 


go  ITOVr  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

this  remuneration,  and  he  longed  to  make  the  one  guiiea 
two,  but  this  was  impossible.  Before  he  left  he  had  taken 
Mrs.  Home's  drawing-rooms  for  a  month,  and  had  arranged 
to  come  into  possession  of  his  new  quarters  that  day  week. 

Looking  at  his  watch  when  he  left  the  house,  he  found 
that  time  had  gone  faster  than  he  had  any  idea  of.  He  had 
now  barely  an  hour  to  jump  into  a  cab,  go  to  his  present 
most  comfortable  lodgings,  change  his  morning  dress,  and 
reach  the  Harmans  in  time  for  eight  o'clock  dinner.  Little 
more  than  these  sixty  minutes  elapsed  from  the  time  he  left 
the  shabby  house  in  Kentish  Town  before  he  found  himself 
in  the  luxurious  abode  of  wealth,  and  every  refinement,  in 
Prince's  Gate.  He  ran  up  to  the  drawing-room,  to  find  Char 
lotte  waiting  for  him  alone. 

"  Uncle  Jasper  will  dine  with  us,  John,"  she  said,  "  but 
my  father  is  not  well." 

"  Not  well ! "  echoed  Hinton.  Her  face  only  expressed 
slight  concern,  and  his  reflected  it  in  a  lesser  degree. 

"  He  is  very  tired,"  she  said,  "  and  he  looks  badly.  But 
I  hope  there  is  not  much  the  matter.  He  will  see  you  after 
dinner.  But  he  could  not  eat,  so  I  have  begged  of  him  to  lie 
down ;  he  will  be  all  right  after  a  little  rest." 

Hinton  made  no  further  remark,  and  Uncle  Jasper  then 
coming  in,  and  dinner  being  announced,  they  all  went  down 
stairs. 

Uncle  Jasper  and  Charlotte  were  merry  enough,  but  Hin 
ton  could  not  get  over  a  sense  of  depression,  which  not  even 
the  presence  of  the  woman  he  loved  could  disperse.  He  was 
not  sorry  when  the  message  came  for  him  to  go  to  Mr.  Har- 
man.  Charlotte  smiled  as  he  rose. 

"  You  will  find  me  in  the  drawing-room  whenever  you  like 
to  come  there,"  she  said  to  him. 

He  left  the  room  suppressing  the  sigh.  Charlotte,  how 
ever,  did  not  hear  or  notice  it.  Still,  with  that  light  of  love 
and  happiness  crowning  her  bright  face,  she  turned  to  the  old 
Australian  uncle. 

"  I  will  pour  you  out  your  next  glass  of  port,  and  stay 
with  you  for  a  few  moments,  for  I  have  something  to  tell 
you." 

"  What  is  that,  my  dear  ?  "  asked  the  old  man. 

"  Some  thing  you  have  had  to  do  with,  dear  old  uncle.  My 
wedding-day  is  fixed." 

Uncle  Jasper  chuckled. 

"  Ah  !  my  dear,"  he  said,  "  there's  nothing  like  having  the 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUNL  (Jj 

day  clear  in  one's  head.  And  when  is  it  to  be,  my  pretty 
lass  ? " 

"  The  twentieth  of  June,  Uncle  Jasper.  Just  four  months 
from  to-day." 

"  Four  months  off  !  "  repeated  Uncle  Jasper.  "  Well,  I 
don't  call  that  very  close  at  hand.  When  I  spoke  to  your 
father  last  night — for  you  know  I  did  speak  to  him,  Charlotte 
— he  seemed  quite  inclined  to  put  no  obstacle  in  the  way  of 
your  speedy  marriage." 

"  Nor  did  he,  Uncle  Jasper.  You  don't  understand.  He 
said  we  might  marry  at  once  if  we  liked.  It  was  I  who  said 
the  twentieth  of  June." 

"  You,  child  ! — and — and  did  Hinton,  knowing  your  father 
had  withdrawn  all  opposition,  did  Hinton  allow  you  to  put  off 
his  happiness  for  four  whole  months  ?  " 

"  It  was  my  own  choice,"  said  Charlotte.  "  Four  months 
do  not  seem  to  me  too  long  to  prepare." 

"  They  would  seem  a  very  long  time  to  me  if  I  were  the 
man  who  was  to  marry  you,  my  dear." 

Charlotte  looked  grave  at  this.  Her  uncle  seemed  to 
impute  blame  to  her  lover.  Being  absolutely  certain  of  his 
devotion,  she  scorned  to  defend  it.  She  rose  from  the  table. 

"  You  will  find  me  in  the  drawing-room,  Uncle  Jasper." 

"  One  word,  Charlotte,  before  you  go,"  said  her  uncle. 
"  No,  child,  I  am  not  going  to  the  drawing-room.  You  two 
lovers  may  have  it  to  yourselves.  But — but — you  remember 
our  talk  of  last  night  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Charlotte,  pausing,  and  coming  back  a 
little  way  into  the  room.  "  Did  you  say  anything  to  my 
father  ?  Will  he  help  Mrs.  Home  ? " 

"  I  have  no  doubt  he  will,  my  dear.  Your  father  and  I 
will  both  do  something.  He  is  a  rery  just  man,  is  your 
father.  He  was  a  good  deal  upset  by  this  reference  to  his 
early  days,  and  to  his  quarrel  with  his  own  father.  I  believe, 
between  you  and  me,  that  it  was  that  which  made  him  ill  this 
evening.  But,  Charlotte,  you  leave  Mrs.  Home  to  us.  I  will 
mention  her  case  again  when  your  father  is  more  fit  to  bear 
the  subject.  What  I  wanted  to  say  now,  my  dear,  is  this, 
that  I  think  it  would  best  please  the  dear  old  man  if — if  you 
told  nothing  of  this  strange  tale,  not  even  to  Hinton,  my 
dear." 

"Why,  Uncle  Jasper ?" 

"  Why,  my  dear  child  ?  The  reason  seems  to  me  obvious 
enough.  It  is  a  story  of  the  past.  It  relates  to  an  old  and 


62  HOW  IT  ALL  CAMK  R3UND, 

painful  quarrel.  It  is  all  over  years  ago.  And  then  you 
could  not  tell  one  side  of  the  tale  without  the  other.  Mrs. 
Home,  poor  thing,  not  personally  knowing  your  father  as  one 
of  the  best  and  noblest  of  men,  imputes  very  grave  blame  to 
him.  Don't  you  think  such  a  tale,  so  false,  so  wrong,  had 
better  be  buried  in  oblivion  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Home  was  most  unjust  in  her  ignorance,"  repeated 
Charlotte.  "  But,  uncle,  you  are  too  late  in  your  warning,  for  I 
told  John  the  whole  story  already  to-day." 

Not  a  muscle  of  Uncle  Jasper's  face  changed. 

"  Well,  child,  I  should  have  said  that  to  you  last  night. 
After  all,  it  is  natural.  Hinton  won't  let  it  go  farther,  and  no 
harm  is  done." 

"  Certainly,  John  does  not  speak  of  my  most  sacred  things," 
answered  Charlotte  proudly. 

"  No,  no,  of  course  he  doesn't.  I  am  sorry  you  tokl  him ; 
but  as  you  say,  he  is  one  with  yourself.  No  harm  is  done. 
No,  thank  you,  my  dear,  no  more  wine  now.  I  am  going  off 
to  my  club." 


CHAPTER  XV. 
MR.  HARMAN'S  CONFIDENCE. 

ALL  through  dinner,  Hinton  had  felt  that  strange  sense 
of  depression  stealing  upon  him.  He  was  a  man  capable  of 
putting  a  very  great  restraint  upon  his  feelings,  and  he  so  be 
haved  during  the  long  and  weary  meal  as  to  rouse  no  sus 
picions,  either  in  Charlotte's  breast  or  in  the  far  sharper  one 
of  the  Australian  uncle.  But,  nevertheless,  so  distressing  was 
the  growing  sense  of  coming  calamity,  that  he  felt  the  gay- 
laugh  of  his  betrothed  almost  distressing,  and  was  truly  re 
lieved  when  he  had  to  change  it  for  the  gravity  of  her  father. 
As  he  went  from  the  dining-room  to  Mr.  Harman's  study,  he 
reflected  with  pleasure  that  his  future  father-in-law  was 
always  grave,  that  never  in  all  the  mcnths  of  their  rather  fre 
quent  intercourse  had  he  seen  him  even  once  indulge  in  what 
could  be  called  real  gayety  of  heart.  Though  this  fact  rather 
coupled  with  his  own  suspicions,  still  he  felt  a  momen- 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  63 

tary  relief  in  having  to  deal  to-night  with  one  who  treated  life 
from  its  sombre  standpoint. 

He  entered  the  comfortable  study.  Mr.  Harman  was 
sunk  down  in  an  armchair,  a  cup  of  untasted  coffee  stood  by 
his  side ;  the  moment  he  heard  Hinton's  step,  however,  he 
rose  and  going  forward,  took  the  young  man's  hand  and 
wrung  it  warmly. 

The  room  was  lit  by  candles,  but  there  were  plenty  of 
them,  and  Hinton  almost  started  when  he  perceived  how  ill 
the  old  man  looked. 

**  Charlotte  has  told  you  what  I  want  you  for  to-night,  eh, 
Hinton  ? "  said  Mr.  Harman. 

"  Yes  ;  Charlotte  has  told  me,"  answered  John  Hinton. 
Then  he  sat  down  opposite  his  future  father-in-law,  who  had 
resumed  his  armchair  by  the  fire.  Standing  up,  Mr.  Har 
man  looked  ill,  but  sunk  into  his  chair,  with  his  bent,  white 
'-"^d,  and  drawn,  anxious  face,  and  hands  worn  to  emaciation, 
oked  twenty  times  worse.  There  seemed  nearly  a  life- 
miic  between  him  and  that  blithe-looking  Jasper,  whom  Hin 
ton  had  left  with  Charlotte  in  the  dining-room.  Mr.  Harman, 
sitting  by  his  fire,  with  firelight  and  candlelight  shining  full 
upon  him,  looked  a  very  old  man  indeed. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  see  you  so  unwell,  sir.  You  certainly 
don't  look  at  all  the  thing,"  began  Hinton. 

"  I  am  not  well — not  at  all  well.  I  don't  want  Charlotte 
to  know.  But  there  need  be  no  disguises  between  you  and 
me  ;  of  course  I  show  it ;  but  we  will  come  to  that  presently. 
First,  about  your  own  affairs.  Lottie  has  told  you  what  I 
want  you  for  to-night  ?  " 

"  She  has,  Mr.  Harman.  She  says  that  you  have  been 
good  and  generous  enough  to  say  you  will  take  a\vay  the  one 
slight  embargo  you  made  to  our  marriage — that  we  may  be 
come  man  and  wife  before  I  bring  you  news  of  that  brief." 

"  Yes,  Hinton :  that  is  what  I  said  to  her  this  morning  :  I 
repeat  the  same  to  you  to-night.  You  may  fix  your  wedding- 
day  when  you  like — I  dare  say  you  have  fixed  it." 

*:  Charlotte  has  named  the  twentieth  of  next  June,  sir ; 
but " 

"  The  twentieth  of  June !  that  is  four  months  away.  I 
did  not  want  her  to  put  it  off  as  far  as  that.  However, 
women,  even  the  most  sensible,  have  such  an  idea  of  the 
time  it  takes  to  get  a  trousseau.  The  twentieth  of  June  I 
You  can  make  it  sooner,  can't  you  ? " 

"  Four  months  is  not  such  a  long  time,  sir.     We  have  a 


54  ffOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

house  to  get,  and  furniture  to  buy.     Four  months  will  b« 
necessary  to  make  these  arrangements." 

"  No,  they  won't ;  for  you  have  no  such  arrangements  to 
make.  You  are  to  come  and  live  here  when  you  marry. 
This  will  be  your  house  when  you  marry,  and  I  shall  be  your 
guest.  I  can  give  you  Charlotte  Hinton ;  but  I  cannot  do 
without  her  myself. 

"  But  this  house  means  a  very,  very  large  income,  Mr. 
Harman.  Is  it  prudent  that  we  should  begin  like  this? 
For  my  part  I  should  much  rather  do  on  less." 

"  You  may  sell  the  house  if  you  fancy,  and  take  a  smaller 
one ;  or  go  more  into  the  country.  I  only  make  one  proviso 
— that  while  I  live,  I  live  with  my  only  daughter." 

"  And  with  your  son,  too,  Mr.  Harman,"  said  Hinton, 
just  letting  his  hand  touch  for  an  instant  the  wrinkled  hand 
which  lay  on  Mr.  Harman's  knee. 

The  old  man  smiled  one  of  those  queer,  sad  smiles  which 
Hinton  had  often  in  vain  tried  to  fathom.  Responding  to 
the  touch  of  the  vigorous  young  hand,  he  said — 

"  I  have  always  liked  you,  Hinton.     I  believe,  in  giving 
you  my  dear  child,  I  give  her  to  one  who  will  make  her  happy." 
"  Happy  !  yes,  I  shall  certainly  try  to  make  her  happy," 
answered  Hinton,  with  a  sparkle  in  his  eyes. 

"And  that  is  the  main  thing;  better  than  wealth,  or 
position,  or  anything  else  on  God's  earth.  Happiness  comes 
with  goodness,  you  know,  my  dear  fellow ;  no  bad  man  was 
ever  happy.  If  you  and  Charlotte  get  this  precious  thing 
into  your  lives  you  must  both  be  good.  Don't  let  the  evil 
touch  you  ever  so  slightly.  If  you  do,  happiness  flies." 
"  I  quite  believe  you,"  answered  Hinton. 
"  Well,  about  money  matters.  I  am,  as  you  know,  very 
rich.  I  shall  settle  plenty  of  means  upon  my  daughter ;  but 
it  will  be  better  for  you  to  enter  into  all  these  matters  with 
my  solicitor.  When  can  you  meet  him  ?  " 

"  Whenever  convenient  to  you  and  to  him,  sir." 
"  I  will  arrange  it  for  you,  and  let  you  know." 
"  Mr.  Hannan,  may  I  say  a  word  for  myself  ? "  suddenly 
asked  the  young  man. 

"  Most  certainly.  Have  I  been  so  garrulous  as  to  keep 
you  from  speaking  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,  sir ;  you  have  been  more  than  generous.  You 
have  been  showing  me  the  rose-color  from  your  point  of  view. 
Now  it  is  not  all  rose-color." 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  65 

"  I  was  coming  to  that ;  it  is  by  no  means  all  rose-color. 
Well,  say  your  say  first." 

"  You  are  a  very  rich  man,  and  you  are  giving  me  your 
daughter ;  so  endowing  her,  that  any  man  in  the  world  would 
say  I  had  drawn  a  prize  in  money,  if  in  nothing  else." 

Mr.  Harman  smiled. 

"  I  fear  you  must  bear  that,"  he  said.  "  I  do  not  see 
that  you  can  support  Charlotte  without  some  assistence  from 
me." 

"  I  certainly  could  not  do  so.  I  have  exactly  two  hundred 
a  year,  and  that,  as  you  were  pleased  to  observed  before, 
would  be,  to  one  brought  up  as  Charlotte  has  been,  little 
short  of  beggary." 

"  To  Charlotte  it  certainly  would  be  almost  beggary." 

"  Mr.  Harman,  I  have  some  pride  in  me.  I  am  a  bar 
rister  by  profession.  Some  barristers  get  high  in  their  pro 
fession." 

"  Undoubtedly  some  do." 

"Those  who  are  brilliant  do,"  continued  Hinton.  "I 
have  abilities,  whether  they  are  brilliant  or  not,  time  will 
show.  Mr.  Harman,  I  should  like  to  bring  you  news  of  that 
brief  before  we  are  married." 

"  I  can  throw  you  in  the  way  of  getting  plenty  of  briefs 
when  you  are  my  son-in-law.  I  promise  you,  you  will  no 
longer  be  a  barrister  with  nothing  to  do." 

"  Yes,  sir ;  but  I  want  this  before  my  marriage." 

"  My  influence  can  give  it  to  you  before." 

"  But  that  was  against  our  agreement,  Mr.  Harman.  I 
want  to  find  that  brief  which  is  to  do  so  muc1  ..or  me  without, 
your  help." 

"Very  well.    Find  it  before  the  twentieii   of  June." 

After  this  the  two  men  were  silent  for  several  moments. 
John  Hinton,  though  in  no  measure  comforted,  felt  it  im 
possible  to  say  more  just  then,  and  Mr.  Harman,  with  a  face 
full  of  care,  kept  gazing  into  the  fire.  John  Hinton  might 
have  watched  that  face  with  interest,  had  he  not  been  other 
wise  occupied.  After  this  short  silence  Mr.  Harman  spoke 
again. 

"  You  think  me  very  unselfish  in  all  this ;  perhaps  even 
my  conduct  surprises  you." 

"  I  confess  it  rather  does,"  answered  Hinton. 

*  Will  you  oblige  me  by  saying  how  ?  " 

"  For  one  thing,  you  give  so  much  and  expect  so  little." 

44  Ay,  so  it  appears  at  first  sight ;  but  I  told  you  it  was 


66  ffOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

not  all  rose-color ;  I  am  coming  to  that  part.  Your  prid* 
has  been  roused — I  can  soothe  it." 

"  I  love  Charlotte  too  much  to  feel  any  pride  in  the 
matter,"  replied  Hinton,  with  some  heat 

"  I  don't  doubt  your  affection,  my  good  fellow ;  and  I  put 
against  it  an  equal  amount  on  Charlotte's  part  ;  also  a  noble 
and  beautiful  woman,  and  plenty  of  money,  with  money's 
attendant  mercies.  I  fear  even  your  affection  is  outweighed 
in  that  balance." 

"  Nothing  can  outweigh  affection,"  replied  Hinton 
boldly. 

Mr.  Harman  smiled,  and  this  time  stretching  out  his 
own  hand  he  touched  the  young  man's. 

"  You  are  right,  my  dear  boy ;  and  because  I  am  so  well 
aware  of  this,  I  give  my  one  girl  to  a  man  who  is  a  gentle 
man,  and  who  loves  her.  I  ask  for  nothing  else  in  Char 
lotte's  husband,  but  I  am  anxious  for  you  to  be  her  husband 
at  once." 

"  And  that  is  what  puzzles  me,"  said  Hinton  :  "you  have 
a  sudden  reason  for  this  hurry.  We  are  both  young ;  we 
can  wait ;  there  is  no  hardship  in  waiting." 

"  There  would  be  a  hardship  to  me  in  your  waiting  longer 
now.  You  are  quite  right  in  saying  I  have  a  sudden  reason ; 
this  time  last  night  I  had  no  special  thought  of  hurrying  on 
Charlotte's  marriage.  Her  uncle  proposed  it ;  I  considered 
his  reasoning  good — so  good,  that  I  gave  Charlotte  permis 
sion  this  morning  to  fix  with  you  the  time  for  the  wedding. 
But  even  then  delay  would  have  troubled  me  but  little  ;  now 
it  does  ;  now  even  these  four  short  months  trouble  me 
•orely." 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Hinton. 

"  Why  ?  You  mentioned  my  health,  and  observed  that  I 
looked  ill ;  I  said  I  would  come  to  that  presently.  I  am  ill ; 
I  look  very  ill.  I  have  seen  physicians.  To-day  I  went  to 
see  Sir  George  Anderson  ;  he  told  me,  without  any  preamble, 
the  truth.  My  dear  fellow,  I  want  you  to  be  my  child's  pro 
tector  in  a  time  of  trouble,  for  I  am  a  dying  man." 

Hinton  had  never  come  face  to  face  with  death  in  his  lift 
before.  He  started  forward  now  and  clasped  his  hands. 

"  Dying ! "  he  repeated,  in  a  tone  of  unbelief  and  con 
sternation. 

"  Yes ;  you  dtfn't  see  it,  for  I  an  going  about.  I  shall  go 
about  much  as  usual  to  the  very  last.  Your  idea  of  dying 
men  is  that  they  stay  in  bed  and  get  weak,  and  have  a  living 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  6) 

death  long  before  the  last  great  mercy  comes.  That  will 
not  be  my  case.  I  shall  be  as  you  see  me  now  to  the  very 
last  moment ;  then  some  day,  or  perhaps  some  night,  you 
will  come  into  this  room,  or  into  another  room,  it  does  not  a 
bit  matter  where,  and  find  me  dead." 

"  And  must  this  come  soon  ?  "  repeated  Hinton. 

"  It  may  not  come  for  some  months ;  it  may  stay  away 
for  a  year ;  but  again  it  may  come  to-night  or  to-morrow." 

"  Good  God ! "  repeated  Hinton. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Hinton,  you  are  right,  in  the  contemplation 
of  such  a  solemn  and  terrible  event,  to  mention  the  name  of 
your  Creator.  He  is  a  good  God,  but  His  very  goodness 
makes  Him  ternble.  He  is  a  God  who  will  see  justice  done  ; 
who  will  by  no  means  cleanse  the  guilty.  I  am  going  into 
His  presence — a  sinful  old  man.  Well,  I  bow  to  His  de 
cree.  But  enough  of  this  ;  you  see  my  reasons  for  wishing 
for  an  early  marriage  for  my  child." 

"  Mr.  Harman,  I  am  deeply,  deeply  pained  and  shocked. 
May  I  know  the  nature  of  your  malady  ? " 

"  It  is  unnecessary  to  discuss  it,  and  does  no  good  ;  suffice 
it  to  know  that  I  carry  a  disease  within  me  which  by  its 
very  nature  must  end  both  soon  and  suddenly ;  also  that 
there  is  no  cure  for  the  disease." 

"  Are  you  telling  me  all  this  as  a  secret  ?  " 

"  As  a  most  solemn  and  sacred  secret.  My  brother  suspects 
something  of  it,  but  no  one,  no  one  in  all  the  world  knows 
the  full  and  solemn  truth  but  yourself." 

"  Then  Charlotte  is  not  to  be  told  ? " 

"  Charlotte  !  Charlotte  !  It  is  for  her  sake  I  have  con 
fided  to  you  all  this,  that  you  may  guard  her  from  such  a 
knowledge." 

"  John  Hinton  was  silent  for  a  moment  or  two ;  if  he 
disliked  Charlotte  having  a  secret  from  him  much  more  did 
he  protest  against  the  knowledge  which  now  was  forced  upon 
him  being  kept  from  her.  He  saw  that  Mr.  Harman  was 
firmly  set  on  keeping  his  child  in  the  dark;  he  disapproved, 
but  he  hardly  dared,  so  much  did  he  fear  to  agitate  the  old 
inai?,  to  make  any  vigorous  stand  against  a  decree  which 
seemed  to  him  both  cruel  and  unjust.  He  must  say  some 
thing,  however,  so  he  began  gently — 

"  I  will  respect  your  most  sacred  confidence,  Mr.  Har 
man  ;  without  your  leave  no  word  from  me  shall  convey  this 
knowledge  to  Charlotte  ;  but  pardon  me  if  I  say  a  word. 
You  know  your  own  child  very  well,  but  I  also  know  Char 


68  HVVT  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

lotte  ;  she  has  lived,  for  all  her  talent  and  her  five  and  twenty 
years,  the  sheltered  life  of  a  child  hitherto — but  that  is  noth 
ing  ;  she  is  a  noble  woman,  she  has  a  noble  woman's  heart ; 
in  trouble,  such  a  nature  as  hers  could  rise  and  prove  itself 
great.  Don't  you  suppose,  when  by  and  by  the  end  really 
comes,  she  will  blame  me,  and  even  perhaps,  you,  sir,  for 
keeping  this  knowledge  from  her." 

"  She  will  never  blame  her  old  father.  She  will  see,  blesa 
her,  that  I  did  it  in  love ;  you  will  tell  her  that,  be  sure 
you  tell  her  that,  when  the  time  comes  ;  please  God,  you  will 
be  her  husband  then,  and  you  will  have  the  right  to  comfort 
her." 

"  I  hope  to  have  the  right  to  comfort  her,  I  hope  to  be 
her  husband  ;  still,  I  think  you  are  mistaken,  though  I  can 
urge  the  matter  no  further." 

"  No,  for  you  cannot  see  it  with  my  eyes ;  that  child 
and  I  have  lived  the  most  unbroken  life  of  peace  and  hap 
piness  together ;  neither  storm  nor  cloud  has  visited  us  in 
one  another.  The  shadow  of  death  must  not  embitter  our 
last  few  months  ;  she  must  be  my  bright  girl  to  the  very  last. 
Some  day,  if  you  and  she  ever  have  a  daughter,  you  will 
understand  my  feelings — at  least  in  part  you  will  understand 
it." 

"  I  cannot  understand  it  now,  but  I  can  at  least  respect 
it,"  answered  the  young  man. 


CHAPTER  JCVI. 
"VENGEANCE  is  MINX." 

WMKN  Hinton  at  last  left  him,  Mr.  Harman  sat  on  for  a 
.ong  time  by  his  study  fire.  The  fire  burnt  low  but  he  did 
not  replenish  it,  neither  did  he  touch  the  cold  coffee  which 
still  remained  on  his  table.  After  an  hour  or  so  of  musings, 
during  which  the  old  face  seemed  each  moment  to  grow  more 
sad  and  careworn,  he  stretched  out  his  hand  to  ring  his  bell. 

Almost  instantly  was  the  summons  answered — a  tall  foot 
man  stood  before  him. 

"  Dennis,  has  Mr.  Jasper  left  ? " 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  69 

"  Yes,  sir.  He  said  he  was  going  to  his  club.  I  can 
have  him  fetched,  sir." 

"  Do  not  do  so.  After  Mr.  Hinton  leaves,  ask  Miss  Har 
man  to  come  here." 

The  footman  answered  softly  in  the  affirmative  and  with 
drew,  and  Mr.  Harman  still  sat  on  alone.  He  had  enough 
to  think  about.  For  the  first  time  to-day  death  had  come 
and  stared  him  in  the  face ;  very  close  indeed  his  own  death 
was  looking  at  him.  He  was  a  brave  man,  but  the  sight  of 
the  cold,  grim  thing,  brought  so  close,  so  inevitably  near,  was 
scarcely  to  be  endured  with  equanimity.  After  a  time,  rising 
from  his  seat,  he  went  to  a  bookcase  and  took  down,  not  a 
treatise  on  medicine  or  philosophy,  but  an  old  Bible. 

"  Dying  men  are  said  to  find  comfort  here,"  he  said  faintly 
to  himself.  He  put  one  of  the  candles  on  the  table  and 
opened  the  book.  It  was  an  old  Bible,  but  John  Harman 
was  not  very  well  acquainted  with  its  contents. 

"They  tell  me  there  is  much  comfort  here,"  he  said  to 
himself.  He  turned  the  old  and  yellow  leaves. 

"  Vengeance is mine.  I  will  repay?'  These  were  the  words 
on  which  his  eyes  fell. 

Comfort !  He  closed  the  book  with  a  groan  and  returned 
it  to  the  bookshelf.  But  in  returning  it  he  chose  the  highest 
shelf  of  all  and  pushed  it  far  back  and  well  out  of  sight. 

He  had  scarcely  done  so  before  a  light  quick  step  was 
heard  at  the  door,  and  Charlotte,  her  eyes  and  cheeks  both 
bright,  entered. 

"  My  dearest,  my  darling,"  he  said.  He  came  to  meet 
her,  and  folded  her  in  his  arms.  He  was  a  dying  man,  and 
a  sin-laden  one,  but  not  the  less  sweet  was  that  young  em 
brace,  that  smooth  cheek,  those  bright,  happy  eyes. 

"  You  are  better,  father ;  you  look  better,"  said  his 
daughter. 

"  I  have  been  rather  weak  and  low  all  the  evening,  Lottie ; 
but  I  am  much  better  for  seeing  you.  Come  here  and  sit  at 
my  feet,  my  dear  love." 

"  I  am  very  happy  this  evening,"  said  Charlotte,  seating 
herself  on  her  father's  footstool,  and  laying  her  hand  on  his 
knee. 

"  I  can  guess  the  reason,  my  child  ;  your  wedding-day  is 
fixed." 

"  This  morning,  father,  I  said  it  should  be  the  twentieth 
of  June  ;  John  seemed  quite  satisfied,  and  four  months  were 


70  HOW  IT  ALL  CAMR  ROUND. 

not  a  bit  too  long  for  our  preparations  ;  but  to-night  he  has 
changed  his  mind  ;  he  wants  our  wedding  to  be  in  April.  I 
have  not  given  in — not  yet.  Two  months  seem  so  short." 

"You  will  have  plenty  of  time  to  prepare  in  two  months, 
dear ;  and  April  is  a  nice  time  of  year.  If  I  were  you,  I 
would  not  oppose  Hinton." 

Charlotte  smiled.  She  knew  in  her  heart  of  hearts  she 
ihouid  not  oppose  him.  But  being  a  true  woman,  she  laid 
hold  of  a  futile  excuse. 

"  My  book  will  not  be  finished.  I  like  to  do  well  what  I 
do  at  all." 

Her  father  was  very  proud  of  this  coming  book  ;  but  now, 
patting  her  hand,  he  said  softly, — 

"  The  book  can  keep.  Put  it  out '  of  your  head  for  the 
present ;  you  can  get  it  done  later." 

"  Then  I  shall  leave  you  two  months  sooner,  father ;  does 
that  not  weigh  with  you  at  all  ? " 

"  You  are  only  going  for  your  honeymoon,  darling ;  and 
the  sooner  you  go  the  sooner  you  will  return." 

"  Vanquished  on  all  points,"  said  Charlotte,  smiling  radi 
antly,  and  then  she  sat  still,  looking  into  the  fire. 

Long,  long  afterwards,  through  much  of  sorrow — nay, 
even  of  tribulation — did  her  thoughts  wander  back  to  that 
golden  evening  of  her  life. 

"  You  remind  me  of  my  own  mother  to-night,"  said  her 
father  presently. 

Charlotte  and  her  father  had  many  times  spoken  of  this 
dead  mother.  Now  she  said  softly, — 

"  I  want,  I  pray,  I  long  to  make  as  good  a  wife  as  you 
tell  me  she  did." 

"  With  praying,  longing,  and  striving,  it  will  come  Char 
lotte.  That  was  how  she  succeeded." 

"  And  there  is  another  thing,"  continued  Charlotte,  sud 
denly  changing  her  position  and  raising  her  bright  eyes  to 
her  old  father's  face.  "  You  had  a  good  wife  and  I  had  a 
good  mother.  If  ever  I  die,  as  my  own  mother  died,  and 
leave  behind  me  a  little  child,  as  she  did,  I  pray  thit  my 
John  may  be  as  good  a  father  to  it  as  you  have  been  to  me.'' 

But  in  answer  to  this  little  burst  of  daughterly  love,  a 
strange  thing  happened.  Mr.  Harman  grew  very  white,  so 
white  that  he  gasped  for  breath. 

"  Water,  a  little  water,*  he  said,  feebly ;  and  when  Char 
lotte  had  brought  it  to  him  and  he  raised  it  to  his  lips,  and 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  ji 

the  color  and  power  to  breathe  had  come  back  again,  he 
said  slowly  and  with  great  pain, — 

"  Never,  never  pray  that  your  husband  may  be  like  me, 
Charlotte.  To  be  worthy  of  you  at  all,  he  must  be  a  much 
better  and  a  very  diff erent  man." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

HAPPINESS   NOT  JUSTICE. 

HINTON  left  Mr.  Harman's  house  in  a  very  perplexed 
frame  of  mind.  It  seemed  to  him  that  in  that  one  short  day 
as  much  had  happened  to  him  as  in  all  the  course  of  his  pre 
vious  life,  but  the  very  force  of  the  thoughts,  the  emotions, 
the  hopes,  the  fears,  which  had  visited  him,  made  him,  strong, 
young  and  vigorous  as  he  was,  so  utterly  weary,  that  when  he 
reached  his  rooms  he  felt  that  he  must  let  tired-out  nature 
have  its  way — he  threw  himself  on  his  bed  and  slept  the 
sleep  of  the  young  and  healthy  until  the  morning. 

It  was  February  we  ather,  February  unusually  mild  and 
genial,  and  the  pet  day  of  yesterday  was  followed  by  anothei 
as  soft  and  sweet  and  mild.  When  Hinton  awoke  from  his 
refreshing  slumbers,  the  day  was  so  well  and  thoroughly 
risen  that  a  gleam  of  sunshine  lay  across  his  bed.  He  started 
up  to  discover  a  corresponding  glow  in  his  heart.  What  was 
causing  this  glow  ?  In  a  moment  he  remembered,  and  the 
gleam  of  heart  sunshine  grew  brighter  with  the  knowledge. 
The  fact  was,  happiness  was  standing  by  the  young  man's 
side,  holding  out  two  radiant  hands,  and  saying,  "  Take  me, 
take  me  to  your  heart  of  hearts,  for  I  have  come  to  dwell  with 
you."  Hinton  rose,  dressed  hastily,  and  went  into  his  sitting- 
room.  All  the  gloom  which  had  so  oppressed  him  yesterday 
had  vanished.  He  could  not  resist  the  outward  sunshine, 
nor  the  heart-glow  which  had  come  to  him.  He  stepped 
lightly,  and  whistled  some  gay  airs.  He  ate  his  breakfast 
with  appetite,  then  threw  himself  into  an  easy-chair  which 
stood  near  the  window ;  he  need  not  go  to  his  chambers  foi 
at  least  an  hour,  he  might  give  himself  this  time  to  think. 

Again  happiness  stepped  up  close  and  showed  her  beau 
tiful  face.  Should  he  take  her  ;  should  he  receive  the  rare 


ja  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

and  lovely  thing  and  shut  out  that  stern  sense  of  justice,  of 
relieving  the  oppressed,  of  seeing  the  wronged  righted,  which 
had  been  as  his  sheet-anchor  yesterday,  which  had  been  more 
or  less  the  sheet-anchor  of  his  life  t     Here  was  his  position. 
He  was  engaged  to  marry  Charlotte  Harman  ;  he  loved  her 
with  his  whole  heart ;  she  loved  him  with  her  whole  heart ; 
she  was  a  beautiful  woman,  a  noble  woman,  a  wealthy  woman. 
With  her  as  his  wife,  love,  riches,  power  might  all  be  his. 
What  more  could  the  warm,  warm  feelings  of  youth  desire  ? 
what  more  could  the  ambitions  of  youth  aspire  to  ?     Yester 
day,  it  is  true,  he  had  felt  some  rising  of  that  noble  pride 
which  scorns  to  receive  so  much  and  give  so  little.     He  had 
formed  a  wild,  almost  passionate  determination  to  obtain  his 
brief  before  he  obtained  his  bride,  but  Mr.  Harman  had 
soothed  that  pride  to  sleep.     There  was  indeed  a  grave  and 
sad  reason  why  this  beautiful  and  innocent  woman  whom  he 
had  won  should  receive  all  the  full  comfort  his  love  and  pro 
tection  could  give  her  as  quickly  as  possible.     Her  father 
was  dying,  and  she  must  not  know  of  his  approaching  death. 
Her  father  wished  to  see  her  Hinton's  wife  as  soon  as  pos 
sible.     Hinton  felt  that  this  was  reasonable,  this  was  fair ; 
for  the  sake  of  no  pride,  true  or  false,  no  hoped-for  brief, 
could  he  any  longer  put  off  their  wedding.     Nay,  far  from 
this.      Last  night  he  had  urged   its  being  completed  two 
months  sooner  than  Charlotte  herself  had  proposed.     He  saw 
by  the  brightness  in  Charlotte's  eyes  that,  though  she  did  not 
at  once  agree  to  this,  her  love  for  him  was  such  that  she 
would  marry  him  in  a  week  if  he  so  willed  it.     He  rejoiced 
in  these  symptoms  of  her  great  love,  and  the  rejoicings  of 
last  night  had  risen  m  a  fuller  tide  this  morning.     Yes,  it 
was  the  rule  of  life,  the  one  everlasting  law,  the  old  must 
suffer  and  die,  the  young  must  live  and  rejoice.     Yes ;  Hinton 
felt  very  deep  sympathy  for  Mr.  Harman  last  night,  but  this 
morning,  his  happiness  making  him  more  self-absorbed  than 
really  selfish,  he  knew  that  the  old  man's  dying  and  suffering 
state  could  not  take  one  iota  from  his  present  delight. 

What  then  perplexed  him  ?  What  made  him  stand  aloof 
from  the  radiant  guest,  Happiness,  for  a  brief  half  hour  ? 
That  story  of  Charlotte's ;  it  would  come  back  to  him  ;  he 
wished  now  he  had  never  heard  it.  For  having  heard  he 
could  not  forget :  he  could  not  exorcise  this  grim  Thing 
which  stood  side  by  side  with  Happ  ness  in  his  sunny  room 
The  fact  wa%  his  acute  mind  took  in  the  true  bearings  of 
tl.t-  case  far  more  clearly  than  Charlotte  had  done.  He  felt 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  73 

sure  that  Mrs.  Home  had  been  wronged.  He  felt  equally 
sure  thai;  if  he  looked  into  the  case,  it  lay  in  his  power  to 
right  her.  Over  and  over  he  saw  her  pale,  sad  face,  and  he 
hoped  it  was  not  going  to  haunt  him.  The  tale  in  his  mind 
lay  all  in  Mrs.  Home's  favor,  all  against  John  and  Jasper 
Harman.  Was  it  likely  that  their  wealthy  father  would  do 
anything  so  monstrously  unjust  as  to  leave  all  his  money 
to  his  two  eldest  sons  with  whom  he  had  previously  quar 
relled,  and  nothing,  nothing  at  all  to  his  young  wife  and  in 
fant  daughter  ?  It  would  be  a  meaningless  piece  of  in 
justice,  un.ike  all  that  he  had  gleaned  of  the  previous  char 
acter  of  the  old  man.  As  to  John  and  Jasper,  and  their  con 
duct  in  the  affair,  that  too  was  difficult  to  fathom.  Jasper  had 
spent  the  greater  portion  of  his  life  in  Australia.  Of  his 
character  Hinton  knew  little ;  that  little  he  felt  was  repug 
nant  to  him.  But  John  Harman — no  man  in  the  City  bore  a 
higher  character  for  uprightness,  for  integrity,  for  honor. 
John  Harman  was  respected  and  loved  by  all  who  knew  him. 

Yes,  yes  :  Hinton  felt  that  all  this  was  possible,  but  also 
he  knew  that  never  in  their  close  intercourse  had  he  been 
able  to  fathom  John  Harman.  A  shadow  rested  over  the 
wealthy  and  prosperous  merchant.  Never  until  now  had  Hin 
ton  even  approached  the  cause  ;  but  now,  now  it  seemed  to 
him  that  he  was  grappling  with  the  impenetrable  mystery, 
that  face  to  face  he  was  looking  at  the  long  and  success 
fully  hidden  sin.  Strong  man  as  he  was,  he  trembled  as  this 
fear  came  over  him.  Whatever  the  cause,  whatever  the 
sudden  and  swift  temptation,  he  felt  an  evergrowing  convic 
tion  that  long  ago  John  and  Jasper  Harman  had  robbed 
the  widow  and  fatherless.  Feeling  this,  being  almost  sure 
of  this,  how  then  should  he  act  ?  He  knew  very  well  what 
he  could  do.  He  could  go  to  Somerset  House  and  see  the 
will  of  old  Mr.  Harman.  It  was  very  unlikely  that  a  forged 
will  had  been  attempted.  It  was,  he  felt  sure,  far  far  more 
probable  that  the  real  will  was  left  untampered  with,  that 
the  deed  of  injustice  had  been  done  in  the  hope  that  no  one 
who  knew  anything  about  such  matters  would  ever  inquire 
into  it. 

Hinton  could  go  that  very  day  and  set  his  mind  at  rest. 
Why  then  did  he  hesitate  ?  Ah  !  he  knew  but  too  well. 
Never  and  nearer  came  that  shining  form  of  Happiness.  If 
he  did  this  thing,  and  found  his  suspicions  correct,  as  he 
feared  much  he  should,  if  he  then  acted  upon  this  knowl 
edge  and  gave  Mrs.  Home  her  own  again,  happiness  would 


74  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND 

fly  from  him,  it  might  be  for  ever.  To  give  Mrs.  Home  her 
rights  he  must  cruelly  expose  a  dying  old  man.  Such  a 
shock,  coming  now,  would  most  probably  kill  John  Harman. 
After  bringing  her  father  to  such  shame  and  dishonor,  would 
Charlotte  ever  consent  to  be  his  wife  ?  would  she  not  indeed  in 
very  horror  fly  from  his  presence  ?  What  was  Mrs.  Home  to 
him,  that  he  should  ruin  his  whole  life  for  her  sake,  that  he 
should  give  up  wife,  wealth,  and  fame  ?  Nothing — a  com 
plete  stranger.  Why  should  he,  for  her  sake,  pain  and  make 
miserable  those  he  loved,  above  all  break  the  heart  of  the 
woman  who  was  more  precious  to  him  than  all  the  rest  of  the 
world  ?  He  felt  he  could  not  do  this  thing.  He  must  take 
that  bright  winged  happiness  and  let  justice  have  her  day 
when  she  could.  Some  other  hand  must  inflict  the  blow,  it 
could  not  be  his  hand.  He  was  sorry  now  that  he  had  taken 
Mrs.  Home's  lodgings.  But  after  all  what  did  it  signify  ?  He 
had  taken  them  for  a  month,  he  could  go  there  for  that  short 
period.  His  quickly  approaching  marriage  would  make  it 
necessary  for  him  to  leave  very  soon  after,  and  he  would  try 
amongst  his  many  friends  to  find  her  a  more  permanent  ten 
ant,  for  though  he  had  now  quite  made  up  his  mind  to  let 
matters  alone,  his  heart  ached  for  this  woman.  Yes,  he 
would,  if  possible,  help  her  in  little  ways,  though  it  would  be 
impossible  for  his  hand  to  be  the  one  to  give  her  her  own 
again.  Having  come  to  this  determination  he  went  out. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

M  SUGAR  AND  SPICE  AND  ALL  THAT'S  KICK." 

k 

PERHAPS  for  one  day  Charlotte  Harman  was  selfish  in 
her  happiness.  But  when  she  awoke  on  the  morning  after 
her  interview  with  her  father,  her  finely  balanced  nature  had 
quite  recovered  its  equilibrium.  She  was  a  woman  whom 
circumstances  could  make  very  noble  ;  all  her  leanings  were 
towards  the  good,  she  had  hitherto  been  unassailed  by  tempta 
tion,  untouched  by  care.  All  her  life  the  beautiful  and  bright 
things  of  this  world  had  been  showered  at  her  feet.  She  had 
H-o  friends  whom  rich,  nmiable,  and  handsome  girls  usually 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


73 


make.  She  had  the  devotion  of  a  most  loving  father.  John 
Hinton  met  her  and  loved  her.  She  responded  to  his  love 
with  her  full  heart.  Another  father  might  have  objected  to 
her  giving  herself  to  this  man,  who  in  the  fashionable  world's 
opinion  was  nothing.  But  Harman  only  insisted  on  a  slight 
delay  to  their  marriage,  none  whatever  to  their  engagement, 
and  now,  after  scarcely  a  year  of  waiting,  the  embargo  was 
withdrawn,  their  wedding-day  was  fixed,  was  close  at  hand 
The  twentieth  of  April  (Charlotte  knew  she  should  not  oppose 
the  twentieth  of  April)  was  not  quite  two  months  away.  Very 
light  was  her  heart  when  she  awoke  to  this  happy  fact. 
Happiness,  too,  was  standing  by  her  bedside,  and  she  made 
no  scruple  to  press  the  radiant  creature  to  her  heart  of  hearts. 
But  Charlotte's  was  too  fine  a  nature  to  be  spoiled  by  prosperity 
Independent  of  her  wealth,  she  must  always  have  been  a 
favorite.  Her  heart  was  frank  and  generous;  she  was 
thoughtful  for  others,  she  was  most  truly  unselfish.  Char 
lotte  was  a  favorite  with  the  servants ;  her  maid  worshipped 
her.  She  was  a  just  creature,  and  had  read  too  much  on 
social  reform  to  give  away  vndiscriminately  and  without 
thought ;  but  where  her  sense  of  justice  was  really  satisfied, 
she  could  give  with  a  royal  hand,  and  there  were  many  poor 
whom  Ward,  her  maid,  knew,  who,  rising  up,  called  Miss 
Harmon  blessed. 

Charlotte  had  taken  a  great  interest  in  Mrs.  Home.  Her 
face  attracted,  her  manner  won,  before  ever  her  story  touched 
the  heart  of  this  young  woman.  The  greatest  pain  Charlotte 
had  ever  gone  through  in  her  life  had  followed  the  recital  of 
Mrs.  Home's  tale,  a  terrible  foreboding  the  awful  shadow 
which  points  to  wrong  done,  to  sin  committed  by  her  best 
and  dearest,  had  come  near  and  touched  her.  Uncle  Jasper, 
with  his  clever  and  experienced  hand,  had  driven  that  shadow 
away,  and  in  her  first  feeling  of  intense  thankfulness  and  re 
lief,  she  had  almost  disliked  the  woman  who  had  come  to  her 
with  so  cruel  a  tale.  All  yesterday,  in  the  midst  of  her  own 
hapiness,  she  had  endeavored  to  shut  Mrs.  Home  from  her 
thoughts;  but  this  morning,  more  calm  herself,  the  re 
membrance  of  the  poor,  pale,  and  struggling  mother  rose  up 
again  fresh  and  vivid  within  her  heart.  It  is  true  Mrs. 
Home  believed  a  lie,  a  cruel  and  dreadful  lie  ;  but  none  the 
less  for  this  was  she  to  be  pitied,  none  the  less  for  this  must 
she  be  helped.  Mrs.  Home  was  Charlotte's  near  relation, 
phe  could  not  suffer  her  to  want.  As  she  lay  in  bed,  she  re 
flected  with  great  thankfulness  that  John  Hinton  had  said,  on 


76  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

hearing  the  tale,  how  manifestly  it  would  be  his  and  her  duty 
to  help  this  poor  mother.  Yes,  by  and  by  they  would  give 
her  enough  to  raise  her  above  all  want,  but  Charlotte  felt  she 
could  not  wait  for  that  distant  time.  She  must  succor  Mrs. 
(Home  at  once.  Her  father  had  said  last  night  that,  if  she 
married  in  two  months,  there  would  be  no  time  for  her  to 
finish  her  book.  He  was  right ;  she  must  give  up  the  book  ; 
she  would  devote  this  morning  to  Mrs.  Home. 

She  rose  with  her  determination  formed  and  went  down 
stairs.  As  usual  her  father  was  waiting  for  her,  as  usual  he 
came  up  and  kissed  her ;  and  as  they  had  done  every  morn 
ing  for  so  many  years,  they  sat  down  opposite  each  other  to 
breakfast.  Charlotte  longed  to  speak  to  her  father  about 
Mrs.  Home,  but  he  looked,  even  to  her  inexperienced,  eyes 
very  ill  and  haggard,  and  she  remembered  her  uncle's  words 
and  refrained  from  the  subject. 

"  You  seem  so  feeble,  father,  had  you  not  better  go  into 
town  in  the  carriage  this  morning  ? "  she  asked,  as  he  rose 
from  his  chair. 

To  her  surprise  he  assented,  even  confessed  that  he  had 
already  ordered  the  carriage.  He  had  never  to  her  knowl 
edge  done  such  a  thing  before,  and  little  as  she  knew  of 
real  illness,  nothing  as  she  knew  of  danger  and  death,  she 
felt  a  sharp  pain  at  her  heart  as  she  watched  him  driving 
away.  The  pain,  however,  was  but  momentary,  lost  in  the 
pressing  interests  of  other  thoughts.  Before  eleven  o'clock 
she  had  started  off  to  see  Mrs.  Home. 

Now  it  was  by  no  means  her  intention  to  go  to  this  newly 
found  relation  empty  handed.  Mrs.  Home  might  or  might 
not  be  willing  to  receive  a  gift  of  money,  but  Charlotte  hoped 
so  to  be  able  to  convey  it  to  her  as  to  save  her  pride  from 
being  too  greatly  hurt. 

Charlotte  had  a  small  banking  account  of  her  own.  She 
drove  now  straight  to  her  bank  in  the  city,  and  drawing 
fifty  pounds  'n  one  note  slipped  it  into  her  purse.  From  the 
bank  she  went  to  a  children's  West  End  shop.  She  there 
chose  a  lovely  velvet  frock  for  the  fair-haired  little  Daisy, 
two  embroidered  white  dresses  for  the  baby;  and  going  a 
little  farther  she  bought  a  smart  tailor  suit  for  the  eldest 
ooy.  After  buying  the  pretty  clothes  she  visited  a  toy  shop, 
*vhere  she  loaded  herself  with  toys  ;  then  a  cake  shop  to  pur 
chase  cakes  and  other  goodies ;  and  having  at  last  exhausted 
her  resources;  she  desired  the  coachman  to  drive  to  Mrs. 
Home's  address  in  Kentish  Town.  She  arrived,  after  a  drive 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  RO UND.  7 7 

of  a  little  over  half  an  hour,  to  find  the  lady  whom  she  had 
come  to  seek,  out.  The  dirty  little  maid  stared  with  full 
round  eyes  at  the  beautiful  young  lady  and  at  the  handsome 
carriage,  and  declared  she  did  not  know  when  her  missis 
would  be  in. 

For  a  moment  Charlotte  felt  foiled  ;  but  she  was  excited 
now — she  could  not  go  away,  laden  as  she  was  with  fairy 
gifts,  without  making  some  effort  to  dispense  these  blessings. 

"  I  am  a  relation  of  Mrs.  Home's  and  I  want  to  see  the 
children.  Are  the  children  in  ?  "  she  asked  of  the  little 
maid. 

Rounder  and  rounder  grew  that  small  domestic's  eyes. 

"  They  can't  be  hout  without  me,"  she  volunteered ; 
"  ain't  I  the  nuss  and  maid-of-all  work  ?  Yes,  the  children 
is  hin." 

Then  she  opened  the  dining-room  door,  and  Charlotte, 
first  flying  to  the  carriage  and  returning  laden  with  brown 
paper  parcels,  followed  her  into  the  little  parlor. 

The  maid,  on  the  swift  wings  of  excitement,  flew  upstairs. 
There  was  the  quick  patter  of  eager  little  feet,  and  in  a  very 
few  moments  the  door  was  pushed  open  and  a  boy  and  girl 
entered.  Charlotte  recognized  them  at  a  glance.  They 
were  the  very  handsome  little  pair  whose  acquaintance  she 
had  made  yesterday  in  Regent's  Park.  The  girl  hung  back 
a  trifle  shyly,  but  the  boy,  just  saying  to  his  sister,  "  The 
pretty  lady,"  came  up,  and  raised  his  lips  for  a  kiss. 

"  You  don't  think  me  rude  ?  "  he  said ;  "  you  don't  mind 
kissing  me,  do  you." 

"  I  love  to  kiss  you  ;  I  am  your  own  cousin,"  said  Char 
lotte. 

"  My  own  cousin  !  Then  I  may  sit  on  your  knee.  Daisy, 
come  here — the  pretty  lady  is  our  own  cousin." 

On  hearing  this,  Daisy  too  advanced.  Neither  child  had 
any  idea  what  the  word  cousin  meant,  but  it  seemed  to  in 
clude  proprietorship.  They  stroked  Charlotte's  furs,  and 
both  pairs  of  lips  were  raised  again  and  again  for  many 
kisses.  In  the  midst  of  this  scene  entered  the  little  maid 
with  the  baby.  Pretty  as  Daisy  and  Harold  were,  they  were 
nothing  to  the  baby ;  this  baby  of  eight  months  had  a  most 
ethereal  and  lovely  face. 

"  Oh,  you  beauty  !  you  darling ! "  said  Charlotte,  as  she 
clasped  the  little  creature  in  her  arms,  and  the  baby,  too 
young  to  be  shy,  allowed  her  to  kiss  him  repeatedly. 


;8  MOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

**  What  a  lot  of  1  amber  i "  said  Daisy,  touching  the  brown- 
paper  parcels. 

This  little  child's  speech  brought  Charlotte  back  to  the 
fact  of  her  ckaes  and  toys.  Giving  baby  to  his  small  nurse, 
she  opened  her  treasures.  Daisy  received  her  doll  with  a 
kind  of  awed  rapture,  Harold  rattled  his  drum  and  blew  his 
trumpet  in  a  way  most  distracting  to  any  weak  nerves  within 
reasonable  distance,  and  the  baby  sucked  some  rather  un 
wholesome  sweets.  No  child  thought  of  thanking  their  bene 
factor,  but  flushed  cheeks,  bright  eyes,  eager  little  voices, 
were  thanks  louder  and  more  eloquent  than  words. 

"  I  want  to  see  your  mother ;  when  will  she  be  in  ?  " 
asked  Charlotte,  after  a  little  quiet  had  been  restored. 

"  Not  all  day,"  answered  Harold.  "  Mother  has  gone 
with  father  to  nurse  a  poor  sick  lady ;  she  won't  be  back  till 
quite  night." 

"  She  said  we  were  to  be  very  good ;  we  are,  aren't  we  ? " 
said  Daisy. 

"  Yes,  darling ;  you  are  quite  perfect,"  replied  the  in 
experienced  Charlotte. 

u  Did  our  mother  ask  you  to  come  and  play  with  us  and 
give  us  lovely  things  ? "  demanded  Harold. 

"  She  does  not  know  I  am  here,  my  dear  little  boy ;  but 
now,  if  you  will  show  me  where  I  can  get  a  sheet  of  paper,  I 
will  just  write  your  mother  a  little  note." 

The  paper  was  quickly  found,  and  Charlotte  sat  down, 
a  boy  and  girl  on  each  side.  It  was  not  easy  to  say  much 
under  such  circumstances,  so  the  words  in  the  little  note 
were  few. 

"  You  will  give  this  to  your  mother  when  she  comes  in. 
Sec  I — I  will  put  it  on  the  mantelpiece,"  she  said  to  Harold  ; 
"  and  you  must  not  touch  these  parcels  until  mother  opens 
them  herself.  Yes;  I  will  come  again.  Now,  good-by."  Her 
bonnet  was  decidedly  crooked  as  she  stepped  into  the  car 
riage,  her  jacket  was  also  much  crumpled  ;  but  there  was 
a  very  sweet  feel  of  little  arms  still  round  her  neck,  and  she 
touched  her  hair  and  cheeks  with  satisfaction,  for  they  had 
been  honored  by  many  child  kisses. 

"  I  believe  she's  just  a  fairy  godmother,"  said  Harold, 
as  he  watched  the  carriage  rolling  away. 

"  I  never  seed  the  like  in  hall  my  born  days,"  remarked 
Ae  small  maid-of-all-work. 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  79 


CHAPTER  XIX 

"  THE  PRETTY  LADY." 

**  MOTHER,  mother,  mother !  " 

"  And  look ! — oh,  do  look  at  what  I  have  got !"  were  ttte 
words  that  greeted  Mrs.  Home,  when,  very  tired,  after  a  day 
of  hard  nuresing  with  one  of  her  husband's  sick  parishioners, 
she  came  back. 

The  children  ought  to  have  been  in  bed,  the  baby  fast 
asleep,  the  little  parlor-table  tidily  laid  for  tea  :  instead  of 
which,  the  baby  wailed  unceasingly  up  in  the  distant  nursery, 
and  Harold  and  Daisy,  having  nearly  finished  Charlotte's 
sweeties,  and  made  themselves  very  uncomfortable  by  re 
peated  attacks  on  the  rich  plum-cake,  were  now,  with  very 
flushed  cheeks,  alternately  playing  with  their  toys  and  poking 
their  small  fingers  into  the  still  unopened  brown-paper  par- 
cles.  They  had  positively  refused  to  go  up  to  the  nursery, 
and,  though  the  gas  was  lit  and  the  blinds  were  pulled  down, 
the  spirit  of  disorder  had  most  manifestly  got  into  the  little 
parlor. 

"  Oh,  mother  ! — what  do  you  think  ?  The  lovely  lady  ! — 
the  lady  we  met  in  the  park  yesterday  ! — she  has  been,  and 
she  brought  us  lots  of  things — toys,  and  sweeties,  and  cakes, 
and — oh,  mother,  do  look  !" 

Daisy  presented  her  doll,  and  Harold  blew  some  very  shrill 
blasts  from  his  trumpet  right  up  into  his  mother's  eyes. 

"  My  dear  children,"  said  Mrs.  Home,  "  whom  do  you 
mean  ?  where  did  you  get  all  these  things?  who  has  come  here? 
Why  aren't  you  both  in  bed  ?  It  is  long  past  your  usual 
hour." 

This  string  of  questions  met  with  an  unintelligible  chorus 
of  replies,  in  which  the  words  "  pretty  lady,"  "  Regent's 
Park,"  "  father  knew  her,"  "  we  had  to  sit  up,"  so  completely 
puzzled  Mrs.  Home,  that  had  not  her  eyes  suddenly  rested 
on  the  little  note  waiting  for  her  on  the  mantelpiece  she  would 
have  been  afraid  her  children  had  taken  leave  of  their 
senses. 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  she  told  us  to  give  you  that,"  said  Harold 
when  he  saw  his  mother  take  it  up. 


So  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

I  h*ve  said  the  note  was  very  short.  Charlotte  Home 
read  it  m  a  moment. 

*'  Mother,  mother  1  what  does  she  tell  you,  and  what  are 
in  the  other  parcels  ?  She  said  we  weren't  to  open  them 
until  you  came  home.  Oh,  do  tell  us  what  she  said,  and  let 
us  see  the  rest  of  the  pretty  things  1 " 

"  Do,  do  mother  ;  we  have  been  so  patient  'bout  it ! "  re 
peated  little  Daisy. 

Harold  now  ran  for  the  largest  of  the  parcels,  and  raised 
it  for  his  mother  to  take.  Both  children  clung  to  her  skirts. 
Mrs.  Home  put  the  large  parcel  on  a  shelf  out  of  reach,  then 
she  put  aside  the  hot  and  eager  little  hands.  At  last  she 
spoke. 

"  My  little  children  must  have  some  more  patience,  for 
mother  can  tell  them  nothing  more  to-night.  Yes,  yes,  the 
lady  is  very  pretty  and  very  kind,  but  we  can  talk  no  more 
about  anything  until  the  morning.  Now,  Harold  and  Daisy, 
come  upstairs  at  once." 

They  were  an  obedient,  well-trained  little  pair.  They 
just  looked  at  one  another,  and  from  each  dimpled  mouth 
came  a  short,  impatient  sigh ;  then  they  gave  their  hands  to 
mother,  and  went  gravely  up  to  the  nursery.  Charlotte 
stayed  with  her  children  until  they  were  undressed.  She 
saw  them  comfortably  washed,  their  baby  prayers  said,  and 
each  little  head  at  rest  on  its  pillow,  then  kissing  the  baby, 
who  was  also  by  this  time  fast  asleep,  she  went  softly  down 
stairs. 

Anne,  the  little  maid,  was  flying  about,  trying  to  get  the 
tea  ready  and  some  order  restored,  but  when  she  saw  her 
mistress  she  could  not  refrain  from  standing  still  to  pour  out 
her  excited  tale. 

"  Ef  you  please,  'em,  it  come  on  me  hall  on  a  'cap.  She 
come  in  that  free  and  that  bounteous,  and  seemed  as  if  she 
could  eat  all  the  children  up  wid  love  ;  and  she  give  'em  a 
lot,  and  left  a  lot  more  fur  you,  'em.  And  when  she  wor 
goin'  away  she  put  half-a-crown  in  my  hand.  I  never  seed 
the  like — never,  'em — never  !  She  wor  dressed  as  grand  as 
Queen  Victory  herself,  and  she  come  in  a  carriage  and  two 
spanking  hosseses  ;  and,  please,  'em,  I  heard  of  her  telling 
the  children  as  she  wos  own  cousin  to  you,  'em." 

"Yes,  I  know  the  young  lady,"  replied  Mrs.  Home. 
"  She  is,  as  you  say,  very  nice  and  kind.  But  now,  Anne, 
we  must  not  talk  any  more.  Your  master  won't  be  in  for  an 
hour,  but  I  shan't  wait  tea  for  him  ;  we  w  ill  have  some  fresh 


HOW  IT  A^LL  CAME  ROUND.  Si 

made  latar.     Please  bring  me  in  a  cup  at  once,  for  I  an> 
very  tired." 

Anne  gazed  at  her  mistress   in  open-eyed  astonishment. 
Any  one/ — any  one  as  poor  as  she  well  knew  missis  to  be—' 
who  could  take   the    fact   of  being  cousin  to  so  beautiful 
and  rich  a  young  lady  with  such  coolness  and  apparent  in 
difference  quite  passed  Anne's  powers  of  comprehension. 

"  It  beats  me  holler — that  it  do !  "  she  said  to  herself ; 
then,  with  a  start,  she  ran  off  to  her  kitchen. 

Mrs.  Home  had  taken  her  first  cup  of  tea,  and  had  even 
eaten  a  piece  of  bread  and  butter,  before  she  again  drew 
Charlotte  Harman's  little  note  out  of  her  pocket.  This  is 
what  her  eyes  had  already  briefly  glanced  over : — 

"  DEAR  FRIEND  AND  SISTER — for  you  must  let  me  call 
you  so — I  have  come  to  see  you,  and  finding  you  out  asked 
to  see  your  children  I  have  lost  my  heart  to  your  beautiful 
and  lovely  children.  They  are  very  sweet !  Your  baby  is 
more  like  an  angel  than  any  earthly  creature  my  eyes  have 
ever  rested  on.  Charlotte,  I  brought  your  children  a  few  toys, 
and  one  or  two  other  little  things.  You  won't  be  too  proud 
to  accept  them.  When  I  bought  them  I  did  not  love  your 
children,  but  I  loved  you.  You  are  my  near  kinswoman.  You 
won't  take  away  the  pleasure  I  felt  when  I  bought  those 
things.  Dear  Sister  Charlotte,  when  shall  we  meet  again  ? 
Send  me  a  line,  and  I  will  come  to  you  at  any  time.  Yours, 

"  CHARLOTTE  HARMAN." 

It  is  to  be  regretted  that  Charlotte  Home  by  no  means 
received  this  sweet  and  loving  little  note  in  the  spirit  in  which 
it  was  written.  Her  pale,  thin  face  flushed,  and  her  eyes  burnt 
with  an  angry  light.  This  burst  of  excited  feeling  was  but 
the  outcome  of  all  she  had  undergone  mentally  since  she  had 
left  Miss  Harman's  house  a  few  days  ago.  She  had  said 
then,  and  truly,  that  she  loved  this  young  lady.  The  pride, 
the  stately  bearing,  the  very  look  of  open  frankness  in 
Charlotte's  eyes  had  warmed  and  touched  her  heart.  She 
had  not  meant  to  tell  to  those  ears,  so  unaccustomed  to  sin 
and  shame,  this  tale  of  long-past  wrong.  It  had  been  in  a 
manner  forced  from  her,  and  she  had  seen  a  flush  of  per 
plexity,  then  of  horror,  color  the  cheeks  and  fill  the  fine 
brave  eyes.  She  had  come  away  with  her  heart  sympathies 
so  moved  by  this  girl,  so  touched,  so  shocked  with  what  she 
herself  had  revealed,  that  she  would  almost  rather,  could  her 


82  nOW  IT  ALL  CA^'f-   AOITATD. 

father's  money  now  be  hers,  relinquish  it,  than  cause  anj 
furl  her  pain  or  shame  to  Charlotte  Harman. 

She  came  home  and  confided  what  she  had  done  to  her 
husband.  It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  he  was  dis 
pleased — that  he  was  much  hurt.  The  Charlotte  who  rn  her  too 
eagerness  for  money  couid  so  act  was  scarcely  the  Charlotte 
he  had  pictured  to  himself  as  his  wife.  Charlotte  was 
lowered  in  the  eyes  of  the  unworldly  man.  But  just  because 
her  husband  was  so  unworldly,  so  unpractical,  Charlotte's 
own  more  everyday  nature  began  to  reassert  itself.  She 
had  really  done  no  harm.  She  had  but  told  a  tale  of  wrong. 
Those  who  committed  the  wrong  were  the  ones  to  blame. 
She,  the  sufferer — who  could  put  sin  at  her  door  ?  Her 
sympathy  for  Charlotte  grew  less,  her  sorrow  for  herself  and 
her  children  more.  She  felt  more  sure  than  ever  that  injus 
tice  had  been  committed — that  she  and  her  mother  had  been 
robbed  ;  she  seemed  to  read  the  fact  in  Charlotte 
Harman's  innocent  eyes,  Charlotte,  in  spite  of  herself,  even 
though  her  own  father  was  the  one  accused,  believed  her — 
agreed  with  her. 

All  that  night  she  spent  in  a  sort  of  feverish  dream,  in 
which  she  saw  herself  Wealthy,  her  husband  happy,  her  chil 
dren  cared  for  as  they  ought  to  be.  The  ugly  ugly  poverty  of 
her  life  and  her  surroundings  had  all  passed  away  like  a  dream 
that  is  told. 

She  got  up  in  a  state  of  excitement  and  expectation,  for 
what  might  not  Charlotte  Harman  do  for  her  ?  She  would 
tell  the  tale  to  her  father,  and  that  father,  seeing  that  his  sin 
was  found  out,  would  restore  her  to  her  rights.  Of  course, 
this  must  be  the  natural  consequence  Charlotte  was  not 
low  and  mean  ;  she  would  see  that  she  had  her  own  again. 
Mrs.  Home  made  no  allowance  for  any  subsequent  event — 
for  any  influence  other  than  her  own  being  brought  to  bear 
on  the  young  lady.  All  that  day  she  watched  the  post ;  she 
watched  for  the  possibility  of  a  visit.  Neither  letter  nor 
visit  came,  but  Mrs.  Home  was  not  discouraged.  That  day 
was  too  soon  to  hear ;  she  must  wait  with  patience  for  the 
morrow. 

On  the  morrow  her  husband,  who  had  almost  forgotten 
her  story,  asked  her  to  come  and  help  him  in  the  care  of  a 
sick  woman  at  some  distance  away.  Charlotte  was  a  capi 
tal  sick-nurse,  and  had  often  before  given  similar  aid  to  Mr. 
Home  in  parish  work. 

She   went,  spent  her  day  away,    and    returned    to  find 


HO  IV  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  83 

that  Charlotte  had  come — that  so  far  her  dream  was  true. 
Yes,  but  only  so  far,  for  Charlotte  had  come,not  in  shame, 
bi:1;  in  the  plenitude  of  a  generous  benefactor.  She  had 
come  laden  with  gifts,  and  had  gone  away  with  the  hearts 
of  the  children  and  the  little  maid.  Charlotte  Home  felt  a 
great  wave  of  anger  and  pain  stealing  over  her  heart.  In 
her  pain  and  disappointment  she  was  unjust. 

"  She  is  a  coward  after  all.  She  dare  not  tell  her  father. 
She  believes  my  tale,  but  she  is  not  brave  enough  to  see 
justice  done  to  me  and  mine  :  so  she  tries  to  make  up  for 
it ;  she  tries  to  salve  her  conscience  and  bribe  me  v.ith  gifts 
— gifts  and  flattery.  I  will  have  none  of  it.  My  rights — my 
true  and  just  rights,  or  nothing  !  These  parcels  shall  go 
back  unopened  to-morrow."  She  rose  from  her  seat,  and 
put  them  all  tidily  away  on  a  side-table.  She  had  scarcely 
done  so  before  her  husband's  latch-key  was  heard  in  the 
hall-door.  He  came  in  with  the  weary  look  which  was 
habitual  to  his  thin  face.  "  Oh,  Angus,  how  badly  you  do 
want  your  tea !  "  said  the  poor  wife.  She  was  almost  alarmed 
at  her  husband's  pallor,  and  forgot  Charlotte  while  attending 
to  his  comfort. 

"  What  are  those  parcels,  Lottie  ?  "  he  said,  noticing  the 
heaped-up  things  on  the  side-table. 

"  Never  mind.     Eat  your  supper  first,"  she  said  to  him. 

"  I  can  eat,  and  yet  know  what  is  in  them.  They  give 
quite  a  Christmas  and  festive  character  to  the  place.  And 
what  is  that  I  see  lying  on  that  chair — a  new  doll  for  Daisy? 
Why,  has  my  careful  little  woman  been  so  extravagant  as  to 
buy  the  child  another  doll  ?  " 

Mr.  Home  smiled  as  he  spoke.  His  wife  looked  at  him 
gravely.  She  picked  up  the  very  pretty  doll  and  laid  it  with 
the  other  parcels  on  the  side-table. 

"  I  will  tell  you  about  the  parcels  and  the  doll  if  you  wish 
it,"  she  answered.  "  Miss  Harman  called  when  I  was  out. 
and  brought  cakes,  and  sweeties,  and  toys  to  the  children. 
She  also  brought  those  parcels.  I  do  not  know  what  they 
contain,  for  I  have  not  opened  them.  And  she  left  a  note 
for  me.  I  cannot  help  the  sweeties  and  cakes,  for  Harold 
and  Daisy  have  eaten  them ;  but  the  toys  and  those  parcels 
shall  go  back  to-morrow." 

Mrs.  Home  looked  very  proud  and  defiant  as  she  spoke. 
Her  husband  glanced  at  her  face  ;  then,  with  a  slight  sigh, 
he  pushed  his  supper  aside. 


84  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

"No,  I  am  not  hungry,  dear.  I  am  just  a  little  overtired. 
May  I  see  Miss  Harman's  note  ?  " 

Charlotte  put  it  at  once  into  his  hand. 

He  read  it  carefully  once — twice.  His  own  spirit  was 
very  loving  and  Christ-like  ;  consequently  the  real  love  and 
true  human  feeling  in  the  little  note  touched  him. 

"  Lottie,"  he  said,  as  he  gave  it  back  to  his  wife,  "  why  do 
you  want  to  pain  that  sweet  creature  ?  " 

Mrs.  Home  took  the  note,  and  flung  it  into  the  fire. 

"  There  !  "  she  said,  an  angry  spot  on  each  cheek.  "  She 
and  hers  have  injured  me  and  mine.  I  don't  want  gifts  from 
her.  I  want  my  rights  !  " 

To  this  burst  of  excited  feeling  Mr.  Home  answered 
noihmg.  After  a  moment  or  two  of  silence  he  rang  the  bell, 
and  when  Anne  appeared  asked  her  to  take  away  the  tea- 
things.  After  this  followed  an  hour  of  perfect  quiet.  Mrs. 
Home  took  out  her  great  basket  of  mending.  Mr.  Home 
sat  still,  and  apparently  idle,  by  the  fire.  After  a  time  he 
left  the  room  to  go  for  a  moment  to  his  own.  Passing  the 
nursery,  he  heard  a  little  movement,  and,  entering  softly, 
saw  Harold  sitting  up  in  his  little  cot. 

"Father,  is  that  you  ?  "  he  called  through  the  semi-light. 

"  Yes,  my  boy.  Is  anything  the  matter  ?  Why  are  you 
not  asleep  ?  " 

"I  couldn't,  father  dear;  I'm  so  longing  for  to-morrow. 
1  want  to  blow  my  new  trumpet  again,  and  to  see  the  rest  of 
the  brown-paper  parcels.  Father,  do  come  over  to  me  for  a 
moment." 

Mr.  Home  came,  and  put  his  arm  round  the  little  neck. 

"  Did  mother  tell  you  that  our  pretty  lady  came  to-day, 
and  brought  such  a  spendid  lot  of  things  ?  " 

"  Whose  pretty  lady,  my  boy  ?  " 

"  Ours,  father — the  lady  you,  and  I,  and  Daisy,  and  baby 
met  in  the  park  yesterday.  You  said  it  was  rude  to  kiss  her, 
and  she  did  not  mind.  She  gave  me  dozens  and  dozens  of 
kisses  to-day." 

"  She  was  very  kind  to  you,"  said  Mr.  Home.  Then, 
bidding  the  child  lie  down  and  sleep,  he  left  him  and  went 
on  to  his  own  room.  He  was  going  to  his  room  with  a 
purpose.  That  purpose  was  quickened  into  intensity  by 
little  Harold's  words. 

That  frank,  fearless,  sweet-looking  girl  was  Miss  Harman  ! 
That  letter  was,  therefore,  not  to  be  wondered  at.  It  was 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  S$ 

the  kind  of  letter  he  would  have  expected  such  a  woman  to 
write.  What  was  the  matter  with  his  Lottie  ? 

"  In  his  perplexity  he  knelt  down  ;  he  remained  upon  his 
knees  for  about  ten  minutes,  then  he  returned  to  the  little 
parlor.  The  answer  to  his  earnest  prayer  was  given  to  him 
almost  directly.  His  wife  was  no  longer  proud  and  cold.  She 
looked  up  the  moment  he  entered,  and  said, — 

"  You  are  angry  with  me,  Angus." 

"No,  my  darling,"  he  answered,  "not  angry,  but  very 
sorry  for  you." 

"  You  must  not  be  sorry  for  me.  You  have  anxieties 
enough.  I  must  not  add  to  them.  Not  all  the  Miss  Harmans 
that  ever  breathe  shall  bring  a  cloud  between  you  and  me. 
Angus,  may  I  put  out  the  gas  and  then  sit  close  to  you  ? 
You  shall  talk  me  out  of  this  feeling,  for  I  do  feel  bad." 

"  I  will  talk  all  night  if  it  makes  you  better,  my  own 
Lottie.  Now,  what  is  troubling  you  ?  " 

"  In  the  first  instance,  you  don't  seem  to  believe  this 
story  about  our  money." 

"  I  neither  believe  it,  nor  the  reverse — I  simply  don't 
let  it  trouble  me." 

"  But,  Angus,  that  seems  a  little  hard  ;  for  if  the  money 
was  left  to  me  by  my  father  I  ought  to  have  it.  Think 
what  a  difference  it  would  make  to  us  all — you,  and  me,  and 
the  children  ?  " 

"  We  should  be  rich  instead  of  poor.  It  would  make 
that  difference,  certainly." 

"  Angus,  you  talk  as  if  this  difference  was  nothing." 

"  Nothing  !  It  is  not  quite  nothing  ;  but  I  confess  it  does 
not  weigh  much  with  me." 

"  If  not  for  yourself,  it  might  for  the  children's  sakes; 
think  what  a  difference  money  would  make  to  our  darlings." 

"  My  dear  wife,  you  quite  forgot  when  speaking  so,  that 
they  are  God's  little  children  as  well  as  ours.  He  has  said 
that  not  a  sparrow  falls  without  His  loving  knowledge.  Is 
it  likely  when  that  is  so,  that  He  will  see  His  children  and 
ours  either  gain  or  suffer  from  such  a  paltry  thing  as 
money  ? " 

"  Then  you  will  do  nothing  to  get  back  our  own  ?  " 

"  If  you  mean  that  I  will  go  to  law  on  the  chance  of  our 
receiving  some  money  which  may  have  been  left  to  us,  certainly 
I  will  not.  The  fact  is,  Lottie — you  may  think  me  very 
eccentric — but  I  cannot  move  in  this  matter.  It  seems  to  me 


86  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

to  be  entirely  God's  matter,  not  purs.  If  Mr.  Harman  has 
committed  the  dreadful  sin  you  impute  to  him,  God  must 
bring  it  home  to  him.  Before  that  poor  man  who  for  years 
has  hidden  such  a  sin  in  his  heart,  and  lived  such  a  life  before 
his  fellow-men,  is  fit  to  go  back  to  the  arms  of  His  father,  he 
must  suffer  dreadfully.  I  pray,  from  my  heart  I  pray,  that 
if  he  committed  the  sin  he  may  have  the  suffering,  for  there 
is  no  other  road  to  the  Father;  but  I  cannot  pray  that  this 
awful  suffering  may  be  sent  to  give  us  a  better  house,  and 
our  children  finer  clothes,  and  that  richer  food  may  be  put 
on  our  table." 

Mrs.  Home  was  silent  for  a  moment,  then  she  salt!, — 
"  Angus,  forgive  me,  I  did  not  look  at  it  in  that  Ik 
"No,  my  dearest,    and   because    I  so   pity   her,   if   her 
father  really  is  guilty,  I  do  not  want  you  unnecessarily  to  pain 
Miss  Harman.     You  remember  my  telling  you  of  that  fine 
girl  I  met  in  Regent's  Park  yesterday,  the  girl  who  was  so 
kind  and  nice  to  our  children.     I    have   just  been  up  with 
Harold,  and  he  tells  me  that  your  Miss   Harman  and  his 
pretty  lady  are  one  and  the  same." 

"  Is  that  really  so  ? "  answered  Mrs.  Home.  "  Yes.  I 
know  that  Charlotte  Harman  is  very  attractive.  Did  I  not 
tell  you,  Angus,  that  she  had  won  my,  own  heart  ?  But  I  confess 
when  I  saw  those  gifts  and  read  her  note  I  felt  angry.  ! 
thought  after  hearing  my  tale  she  should  have  done  more. 
These  presents  seemed  to  me  in  the  light  of  a  bribe." 
"  Charlotte !  " 

"  Ah !  I  know  you  are   shocked.     You  cannot  see  the 
thing  with  my  eyes ;  that  is  how  they  really  looked  to  me." 
*'  Then,  my  dear  wife,  may  I  give  you  a  piece  of  advice  ?  " 
"That  is  what  I  am  hungering  for  Angus." 
"  Tell   the   whole  story,   as  frankly — more  frankly  than 
you  have  told  it  to  me,   to  God  to-night.     Lay   the  whole 
matter  in  the  loving  hands  of  your  Father,  then,  Charlotte  ; 
after   so   praying,    if  in   the  morning  you    still  think    Miss, 
Harman  was  actuated  by  so  mean  a  spirit,  treat  her  as  she 
deserves.     With  your  own  hands  deal  the  punishment  to  her, 
send  everything  back." 

Mrs.  Home's  face  flushed  very  brightly,  and  she  lowered 
her  eyes  to  prevent  her  husband  seeing  the  look  of  shame 
which  filled  them.  The  result  of  this  conversation  was  the 
following  note  written  the  next  morning  to  Miss  Harman. 

'•  I  could  net  have  thanked  y«u  last  night  for  what  you 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  87 

have  done,  but  I  can  to-day.  You  have  won  my  children's 
little  hearts.  Be  thankful  that  you  have  made  my  dear  little 
ones  so  happy.  You  ask  to  see  me  again,  Miss  Harman.  I 
do  not  think  I  can  come  to  you,  and  I  don't  ask  you  to 
come  here.  Still  I  will  see  you;  name  some  afternoon  to 
meet  me  in  Regent's  Park  and  I  will  be  there. 

"  Yours, 
"  CHARLOTTE  HOME. 

Thus  the  gifts  were  kept,  and  the  mother  tried  to  pray 
away  a  certain  soreness  which  would  remain  notwithstanding 
all  her  husband's  words.  She  was  human  after  all,  however, 
and  Charlotte  Harman  might  have  been  rewarded  had  she 
seen  her  face  the  following  Sunday  morning  when  she  brought 
her  pretty  children  down  to  their  father  to  inspect  them  in 
their  new  clothes. 

Harold  went  to  church  that  morning,  with  his  mother,  in  a 
very  picturesque  hat ;  but  no  one  suspected  quite  how  much  it 
was  worth,  not  even  those  jealous  mothers  who  saw  it  and 
remarked  upon  it,  and  wondered  who  had  left  Mrs.  Home  a 
legacy,  for  stowed  carefully  away  under  the  lining  was"  Char 
lotte  Harman's  bright,  crisp,  fifty-pound  note. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

TWO  CHARLOTTES. 

IT  vras  a  week  after ;  the  very  day,  in  fact,  ou  which  Hin- 
ton  was  to  give  up  his  present  most  comfortable  quarters  for 
the  chances  and  changes  of  Mrs.  Home's  poor  little  dwelling. 
That  anxious  young  wife  and  mother,  having  completed  her 
usual  morning  duties,  set  off  to  Regent's  Park  to  meet  Miss 
Harman.  It  was  nearly  March  now,  and  the  days,  even  in 
the  afternoon,  were  stretching,  and  though  it  was  turning  cold 
the  feeling  of  coming  spring  was  more  decidedly  getting  into 
the  air. 

Mrs.  Home  had  told  her  children  that  she  was  going  to 
meet  their  pretty  lady,  and  Harold  had  begged  hard  to  come 
too.  His  mother  would  have  taken  him,  but  he  had  a  cold, 


88  HOW  IT  ALL  CAVE  ROUND. 

and  looked  heavy,  so  she  started  off  for  her  long  walk  alone. 
Won  by  her  husband's  gentler  and  more  Christ-like  spirit, 
Mrs.  Home  had  written  to  Miss  Harman  to  propose  this 
meeting;  but  in  agreeing  to  an  interview  with  her  kinswoman 
she  had  effected  a  compromise  with  her  own  foelings.  She 
would  neither  go  to  her  nor  ask  her  to  come  to  the  little 
house  in  Kentish  Town.  The  fact  was  she  wanted  to  nu-ct 
this  young  woman  on  some  neutral  ground.  There  were 
certain  unwritten,  but  still  most  stringent,  laws  of  courtesy 
which  each  must  observe  in  her  own  home  to  the  o:her. 
Charlotte  Home  intended,  as  she  went  f>  meet  Miss  Harman 
on  this  clay  of  early  spring,  that  very  plain  words  indeed 
should  pass  between  them. 

By  this  it  will  be  seen  that  she  was  still  very  far  behind 
her  husband,  and  that  much  of  a  sore  and  angry  sensation 
was  still  lingering  in  her  heart. 

"  Miss  Harman  will,  of  course,  keep  me  waiting,"  she  said 
to  herself,  as  she  entered  the  park,  and  walked  quickly  to 
wards  the  certain  part  where  they  had  agreed  to  meet.  She 
gave  a  slight  start  therefore,  when  she  saw  that  young  wo 
man  slowly  pacing  up  and  down,  with  the  very  quiet  and 
meditative  air  of  one  who  had  been  doing  so  for  some  little 
time.  Miss  Harman  was  dressed  with  almost  studied  plain 
ness  and  simplicity.  All  the  rich  furs  which  the  children  had 
admired  were  put  away.  When  she  saw  Mrs.  Home  she 
quickened  her  slow  steps  into  almost  a  run  of  welcome,  and 
clasped  her  toil-worn  and  badly  gloved  hands  in  both  her 
own. 

"  How  glad  I  am  to  see  you  !  You  did  not  hurry,  I  hope. 
You  are  quite  out  of  breath.  Why  did  you  walk  so  fast  ? " 

"  I  did  not  walk  fast  until  I  saw  you  under  the  trees,  Miss 
Harman.  I  thought  I  should  have  time  enough,  for  I  im 
agined  I  should  have  to  wait  for  you." 

"  WThat  an  unreasonable  thing  to  suppose  of  me !  I  am 
the  idle  one,  you  the  busy.  No  :  I  respect  wives  and  mothers 
too  much  to  treat  them  in  that  fashion."  Miss  Harman 
smiled  as  she  spoke. 

Mrs.  Home  did  not  outwardly  respond  to  the  smile,  though 
the  gracious  bearing,  the  loving,  sweet  face  were  beginning 
very  slowly  to  effect  a  thaw,  for  some  hard  little  ice  lumps  in 
her  heart  were  melting.  The  immediate  effect  of  this  was, 
however,  so  strong  a  desire  to  cry  that,  to  steel  herself  against 
these  untimely  tears,  she  became  in  manner  harder  than 
ever. 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  89 

'•And  now  what  shall  we  do?"  said  Charlotte  Harman. 
"  The  carriage  is  waiting  for  us  at  the  next  gate  ;  shall  we  go 
for  a  drive,  or  shall  we  walk  about  here  ?  " 

"  I  would  rather  walk  here,"  said  Mrs.  Home. 

"  Very  well.  Charlotte,  I  am  glad  to  see  you.  And  how 
are  your  children  ?  " 

"  Harold  has  a  cold.     The  other  two  are  very  well." 

"  I  never  saw  sweeter  children  in  my  life.  And  do -you 
know  I  met  your  husband  ?  He  and  your  children  both  spoke 
to  me  in  the  park.  It  was  the  day  before  I  came  to  your 
house.  Mr.  Home  gave  me  a  very  short  sermon  to  think 
over.  I  shall  never  forget  it." 

"  He  saw  you  and  liked  you,"  answered  Mrs.  Home. 
"  He  told  me  of  that  meeting." 

"  And  I  want  another  meeting.  Such  a  man  as  that  has 
never  come  into  my  life  before.  I  want  to  see  more  of  him. 
Charlotte,  why  did  you  propose  that  we  should  meet  here  ? 
Why  not  in  my  house,  or  in  yours  ?  I  wanted  to  come  to  you 
again.  I  was  much  disappointed  when  I  got  your  note." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  have  disappointed  you ;  but  I  thought  it 
best  that  we  should  meet  here." 

"  But  why  ?     I  don't  understand." 

"  They  say  that  rich  people  are  obtuse.  I  did  not  want 
to  see  your  riches,  nor  for  you  to  behold  the  poverty  of  my 
land." 

"  Charlotte  !  " 

"  Please  don't  think  me  very  hard,  but  I  would  rather  you 
did  not  say  Charlotte." 

"  You  would  rather  I  did  not  say  Charlotte  ?  " 

Two  large  tears  of  surprise  and  pain  filled  Miss  Harman's 
gray  eyes.  But  such  a  great  flood  of  weeping  was  so  near  the 
surface  with  the  other  woman  that  she  dared  not  look  at  her. 

"  I  would  rather  you  did  not  say  Charlotte,"  she  repeated, 
"for  we  call  those  whom  we  love  and  are  friendly  with  by 
their  Christian  names." 

"  I  thought  you  loved  me.  You  said  so.  You  can't  take 
back  your  own  words." 

"  I  don't  want  to.  I  do  love  you  in  my  heart.  I  feel  I 
could  love  you  devotedly  ;  but  for  all  that  we  can  never  be 
friends." 

Miss  Harman  was  silent  for  a  moment  or  two,  then  she 
said  slowly,  but  with  growing  passion  in  her  voice,  "Ah!  you 
are  thinking  of  that  wretched  money.  I  thought  love  ranked 
higher  than  gold  all  the  world  over." 


go  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

"  So  it  does,  or  appears  to  do,  for  those  who  all  their 
lives  have  had  plenty ;  but  it  is  just  possible,  just  possible,  I 
say,  that  those  who  are  poor,  poor  enough  to  know  what 
hunger  and  cold  mean,  and  have  seen  their  dearest  want 
ing  the  comforts  that  money  can  buy,  it  is  possible  that  such 
people  may  prefer  their  money  rights  to  the  profession  of 
empty  love." 

"  Empty  love  !  "  repeated  Miss  Harman.  The  words 
stung  her.  She  was  growing  angry,  and  the  anger  became 
this  stately  creature  well.  With  cheeks  and  eyes  both  glow 
ing  she  turned  to  her  companion.  "  If  you  and  I  are  not  tn 
part  at  once,  and  never  meet  again,  there  must  be  very  plain 
words  between  us.  Shall  I  speak  those  words  ?  "  she  asked. 
"  I  came  here  that  our  words  might  be  very  plain,"  ans 
wered  Mrs.  Home. 

"They  shall  be,"  said  Charlotte  Harman. 
They  were  in  a  very  quiet  part  of  the  park.     Even  the 
nurses  and  children  were  out  of  sight.     Now  they  ceased 
walking,  and  turned  and  faced  each  other. 

They  were  both  tall,  and  both  the  poor  and  the  rich  young 
woman  had  considerable  dignity  of  bearing ;  but  Charlotte 
Home  was  now  the  composed  one.  Charlotte  Harman  felt 
herself  quivering  with  suppressed  anger.  Injustice  was  be 
ing  dealt  out  to  her,  and  injustice  to  the  child  of  affluence 
and  luxury  was  a  new  sensation. 

"  You  came  to  me  the  other  day,"  she  began,  "  I  had 
never  seen  you  before,  never  before  in  all  my  life  ever  heard 
your  name.  You,  however,  knew  me,  and  you  told  me  a  story. 
It  was  a  painful  and  very  strange  story.  It  made  you  not 
only  my  very  nearest  kin,  but  also  made  you  :he  victim  of  a 
great  wrong.  The  wrong  was  a  large  one,  and  the  victim 
was  to  be  pitied  ;  but  the  sting  of  it  all  lay,  to  me,  not  in  either 
of  the  facts,  but  in  this,  that  you  gave  me  to  understand  that 
he  who  had  dealt  you  such  a  blow  was — my  father.  My 
father,  one  of  the  most  noble,  upright,  and  righteous  of  men, 
you  made  out  to  me,  to  me,  his  only  child,  to  be  no  better  than 
a  common  thief.  I  did  not  turn  you  from  my  doors  for  your 
base  words.  I  pitied  you.  In  spite  of  myself  I  liked  you  ; 
in  spite  of  myself  I  believed  you.  You  went  away,  and  in  the 
agony  of  mind  which  followed  during  the  next  few  hours  I 
could  have  gladly  fled  for  ever  from  the  sight  of  all  the  wide 
world.  I  had  been  the  very  happiest  of  women.  You 
came.  You  went.  I  was  one  of  the  most  miserable.  I  am 
engaged  to  be  married,  and  the  man  I  am  engaged  to  came 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  91 

into  the  room.  I  felt  guilty  before  him.  I  could  not  raise 
my  eyes  to  his,  for,  again  I  tell  you,  I  believed  your  tale,  and 
my  father's  bitter  shame  was  mine.  I  could  not  rest.  Hap 
pen  what  would  I  must  learn  the  truth  at  once.  I  have  an 
uncle  my  father's  brother ;  he  must  know  all.  I  sent  my  lover 
away  and  went  to  this  uncle.  I  asked  to  have  an  interview 
with  him,  and  in  that  interview  I  told  him  all  you  had  told  to 
me.  He  was  not  surprised.  He  acknowledged  at  once  the 
true  and  real  relationship  between  us  ;  but  he  also  explained 
away  the  base  doubts  you  had  put  into  rny  head.  My  father, 
my  own  beloved  father,  is  all,  and  more  than  all,  I  have  ever 
thought  him.  He  would  scorn  to  be  unjust,  to  rob  any  one. 
You  have  been  unfortunate  ;  you  have  been  treated  cruelly  ; 
but  the  injustice,  the  cruelty  have  been  penetrated  by  one 
long  years  now  in  his  grave.  In  short,  your  father  has  been 
the  wicked  man,  hot  mine." 

Here  Mrs.  Home  tried  to  speak,  but  Miss  Harman  held 
up  her  hand. 

"You  must  hear  me  out,"  she  said.  "I  am  convinced, 
but  I  do  not  expect  you  to  be.  After  my  uncle  had  done 
speaking,  and  1  had  time  to  realize  all  the  relief  those  words 
of  his  had  given  me,  I  said,  still  an  injustice  has  been  done. 
We  have  no  right  to  our  wealth  while  she  suffers  from  such 
poverty.  Be  my  grandfather's  will  what  it  may,  we  must 
alter  it.  We  must  so  act  as  if  he  had  left  money  to  his 
youngest  child.  My  uncle  agreed  with  me  ;  perhaps  not  so 
fully  as  I  could  wish,  still  he  did  agree  ;  but  he  made  one 
proviso.  My  father  is  ill,  I  fear.  I  fear  he  is  very  ill.  The 
one  dark  cloud  hanging  over  his  whole  life  lay  in  those  years 
when  he  v,ras  estranged  from  his  own  father.  To  speak  of 
you  I  must  bring  back  those  years  to  his  memory.  Any  ex 
citement  is  bad  for  him  now.  My  uncle  said,  'Wait  until 
your  father  is  better,  then  we  will  do  something  for  Mrs. 
Home.'  To  this  I  agreed.  Was  I  very  unreasonable  to  agree 
to  this  delay  for  my  father's  sake?  " 

Here  Charlotte  Harman  paused  and  looked  straight  at 
her  companion.  Mrs.  Home's  full  gaze  met  hers.  Again, 
the  innocent  candor  of  the  one  pair  of  eyes  appealed  straight 
to  the  heart  lying  beneath  the  other.  Unconvinced  she  was 
still.  Still  to  her,  her  own  story  held  gocd :  but  she  was 
softened,  and  she  held  out  her  hand. 

"  There  is  no  unreasonableness  in  you,  Charlotte,"  she 
said. 


02  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

"  Ah  !  then  you  will  call  me  Charlotte  ? "  said  the  other, 
her  face  glowing  with  delight. 

"  I  call  you  so  now.     I  won't  answer  for  the  future." 

"  We  will  accept  the  pleasant  present.  I  don't  fear  the 
future.  I  shall  win  your  whole  heart  yet.  Now  let  us  drop 
all  disagreeables  and  talk  about  those  we  both  love.  Char 
lotte,  what  a  baby  you  have  got !  Your  baby  must  be  an 
angel  to  you." 

"  All  my  children  are  that  to  me.  When  I  look  at  them 
I  think  God  has  sen  to  me  three  angels  to  dwell  with  me." 

"  Ah  !  what  a  happy  thought,  and  what  a  happv  woman. 
Then  your  husband,  he  must  be  like  the  archangel  Gabriel, 
so  just,  so  righteous,  so  noble.  I  love  him  already  :  but  I 
think  I  should  be  a  little  afraid  of  him.  He  is  so — so  very 
unearthly.  Now  you,  Mrs.  Home,  let  me  tell  you,  are  very 
earthly,  very  human  indeed." 

Mrs.  Home  smiled,  for  this  praise  of  her  best  beloved 
could  not  but  be  pleasant  to  her.  She  told  Miss  Harman  a 
little  more  about  her  husband  and  her  children,  and  Miss 
Harman  listened  with  that  appreciation  which  is  the  sweet 
est  flattery  in  the  world.  After  a  time  she  said, — 

"  I  am  not  going  to  marry  any  one  the  least  bit  unearthly , 
but  I  see  you  are  a  model  wife,  and  I  want  to  be  likewise.  For 
— did  I  not  tell  you  ? — I  am  to  be  married  in  exactly  two 
months  from  now." 

"  Are  you  really  ?     Are  you  indeed  ?  " 

Was  it  possible  after  this  piece  of  confidence  for  these 
two  young  women  not  to  be  friends  ? 

Charlotte  Home,  though  so  poor,  felt  suddenly,  in  experi 
ence,  in  all  true  womanly  knowledge,  rich  beside  her  com 
panion.  Charlotte  Harman,  for  all  her  five  and  twenty  years, 
was  but  a  child  beside  this  earnest  wife  and  mother. 

They  talked;  the  one  relating  her  happy  experience,  the 
other  listening,  as  though  on  her  wedding-day  she  was  cer 
tainly  to  step  into  the  land  of  Beulah.  It  was  the  old,  old 
story,  repeated  again,  as  those  two  paced  up  and  down  in 
the  gray  March  afternoon.  When  at  last  they  parted  there 
was  no  need  to  say  that  they  were  friends. 

And  yet  as  she  hurried  home  the  poor  Charlotte  could 
not  help  reflecting  that  whatever  her  cause  she  had  done 
nothing  for  it.  Charlotte  Harman  might  be  very  sweet.  It 
might  be  impossible  not  to  admire  her,  to  love  her,  to  take 
her  to  her  heart  of  hearts.  But  would  that  love  bring  back 
her  just  rights  ?  would  that  help  her  children  by  :.ml  1  -\  ' 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


93 


She  reached  her    hall  door  to  find  her  husband  standing 
there. 

"  Lottie,  where  have  you  been  ?  I  waited  for  you,  for  I 
did  not  like  to  go  out  and  leave  him.  Harold  is  ill,  and  the 
doctor  has  just  left." 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

A    FRIEND   IN    NEED. 

FOR  many  days  after  that  interview  in  Regent's  Park,  it 
seemed  that  one  of  the  three,  who  made  the  little  house  in 
Kentish  Town  so  truly  like  heaven,  was  to  be  an  angel  in 
deed.  Harold's  supposed  cold  had  turned  to  scarlet  fever, 
and  the  doctor  feared  that  Harold  would  die. 

Immediately  after  her  interview  with  Charlotte  Harman, 
Mrs.  Home  went  upstairs  to  learn  from  the  grave  lips  of  the 
medical  man  what  ailed  her  boy,  and  what  a  hard  fight  for 
life  or  death  he  had  before  him.  She  was  a  brave  woman, 
and  whatever  anguish  might  lie  underneath,  no  tears  filled 
her  eyes  as  she  looked  at  his  flushed  face.  When  the  doc 
tor  had  gone,  she  stole  softly  from  the  sick-room,  and  going 
to  the  drawing-room  where  Hinton  was  already  in  possession, 
she  tapped  at  the  door. 

To  his  "  Come  in,"  she  entered  at  once,  and  said  abruptly 
without  preface, — 

"  I  hope  you  have  unpacked  nothing.  I  must  ask  you  to 
go  away  at  once.'J 

She  had  her  bonnet  still  on,  and,  but  for  the  pallor  of  her 
face,  she  looked  cold,  even  unmoved. 

<:  I  have  everything  unpacked,  and  I  don't  want  to  go. 
Why  should  I  ?  "  demanded  Hinton,  in  some  surprise. 

"  My  eldest  boy  has  scarlet  fever.  The  other  two  will 
probably  take  it.  You  must  on  no  account  stay  here ;  you 
must  leave  to-night  if  you  wish  to  escape  infection." 

In  an  instant  Hinton  was  by  her  side. 

"  Your  boy  has  scarlet  fever?"  he  repeated.  "  I  know 
something  of  scarlet  fever.  He  must  instantly  be  moved  to 
an  airy  bedroom.  The  best  bedroom  in  the  house  is  mine. 
Your  boy  must  sleep  in  my  bedroom  to-night.  ' 

"  It  is  a  good  thought,"  said  Mrs.  Home.  '*  Thank  you 
for  suggesting  it — I  will  move  him  down  at  once  ;  the  bed  is 


94 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


well  aired,  and  the  sheets  are  fresh  and  clean.  I  will  have 
him  moved  whenever  you  can  go." 

She  was  leaving  the  room  when  Hinton  followed  her. 

"  I  said  nothing  about  going.  I  don't  mean  to  I  can 
have  a  blanket  and  sleep  on  the  sofa.  I  am  not  going  away, 
Mrs.  Home." 

"  Mr.  Hinton,  have  you  nc  one  you  care  for  ?  Why  do 
you  run  this  risk." 

"  I  have  some  one  I  care  for  very  much  indeed;  but  I 
run  no  risk.  I  had  scarlet  fever  long  ago.  In  any  case  I 
have  no  fear  of  infection.  Now  I  know  your  husband  is  out; 
let  me  go  upstairs  and  help  you  bring  down  the  little  fellow." 

"  God  bless  you,"  said  the  wife  and  mother.  Her  eyes 
were  beautiful  as  she  raised  them  to  the  face  of  this  good 

Samaritan. 

*  *  *  #  # 

The  little  patient  was  moved  to  the  large  and  comfortable 
room,  and  Hinton  found  himself  in  the  position  of  good  an 
gel  to  this  poor  family.  He  had  never  supposed  himself 
capable  of  taking  such  a  post  with  regard  to  any  one ;  but 
the  thing  seemed  thrust  upon  him.  An  obvious  duty  had 
come  into  his  life,  and  he  never  even  for  the  briefest  instant 
dreamed  of  shirking  it.  He  was  a  man  without  physical 
fear.  The  hardships  of  life,  the  roughing  of  poverty  were 
not  worth  a  passing  thought  of  annoyance  ;  but  there  was 
one  little  act  of  sell-denial  which  he  must  now  exercise  ;  and 
it  is  to  be  owned  that  he  felt  it  with  a  heart-pang.  He  had 
never  told  Charlotte  that  he  was  going  to  live  in  the  house  with 
Mrs.  Home.  He  had  not  meant  to  keep  this  fact  a  secret  from 
her,  but  there  was  still  a  soreness  over  him  when  he  thought 
of  this  young  woman  which  prevented  her  name  coming 
readily  to  his  lips.  On  this  first  night  in  his  new  abode  he 
sat  down  to  write  to  his  promised  wife ;  but  neither  now  did 
l.j  g:ve  his  address,  nor  tell  his  landlady:s  name.  He  had 
an  obvious  reason,  however,  now  for  his  conduct. 

This  was  v,  ha'.  Charlotte  received  from  her  lover  on  the 
following  morning, — 

"  MY  DARLING, — Such  a  strange  thing  has  happened ; 
but  one  which,  thank  God,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  need 
not  cause  you  the  least  alarm.  I  moved  from  my  old 
lodgings  to-day  and  v.cnt  a  little  further  into  the  country. 
I  had  just  unpacked  my  belongings  and  was  expecting 
some  tea,  for  I  was  hot  and  thirsty,  when  n<y  landlady 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


95 


came  in  and  told  me  that  .her  eldest  child  is  taken  very  ill 
with  scarlet  fever.  She  has  ofcher  children,  and  fears  the 
infection  will  spread.  She  is  a  very  poor  woman,  but 
is  one  of  those  who  in  their  bearing  and  manner,  you,  Char 
lotte,  would  call  noble.  She  wanted  me  to  leave  at  once,  but 
this,  Charlotte,  I  could  not  do.  I  am  staying  here,  and  will 
give  her  what  little  help  lies  in  my  power.  You  know  there 
is  no  fear  for  me,  for  I  had  the  complaint  long  ago.  But, 
dearest,  there  is  just  one  thing  that  is  hard.  Until  this  little 
child  is  better,  I  must  not  see  you.  You  have  not  had  this 
fever,  Charlotte,  and  for  you,  for  my  own  sake,  and  your 
father's  sake,  I  must  run  no  risk.  I  will  write  to  you  every 
day,  or  as  much  oftener  as  you  wish,  for  I  can  disenfect  my 
paper  ;  but  I  will  not  go  to  Prince's  Gate  at  present. 
"  Ever,  my  own  true  love, 

"  Yours  most  faithfully, 

"John  Hinton." 

This  letter  was  posted  that  very  night,  but  Hinton  did 
not  put  his  new  address  on  it ;  he  meant  Charlotte  now  for 
prudential  reasons  to  write  to  his  chambers.  He  returned 
to  his  lodgings,  and  for  many  weary  and  anxious  nights  to 
come  shared  their  watch  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Home.  So  quiet 
ly,  so  absolutely  had  this  young  man  stepped  into  his  office, 
that  the  father  and  mother  did  not  think  of  refusing  his  ser 
vices.  He  was  a  good  nurse,  as  truly  tender-hearted  and 
brave  men  almost  always  are.  The  sick  child  liked  his 
touch.  The  knowledge  of  his  presence  was  pleasant.  When 
nothing  else  soothed  him,  he  would  lie  quiet  if  Hinton  held 
his  little  hot  hand  in  his. 

One  evening,  opening  his  bright  feverish  eyes,  he  fixed 
them  full  on  Hinton's  face  and  said  slowly  and  earnestly, — 

"  I  did  kiss  that  pretty  lady." 

"  He  means  a  lady  whom  he  met  in  the  Park  ;  a  Miss 
Harman,  who  came  here  and  brought  him  toys,"  explained 
Mrs.  Home. 

"  Yes,  isn't  she  a  pretty  lady  ?  "  repeated  little  Harold. 

"  Very  pretty,"  answered  Hinton,  bending  low  over  him. 

The  child  smiled.  It  was  a  link  between  them.  He 
again  stole  his  hand  into  that  cf  the  young  man.  But  as 
days  wore  on  and  the  fever  did  not  abate,  the  little  life  in 
that  small  frame  began  to  grow  feeble.  From  being  an  im 
possibility,  it  grew  to  be  probable,  then  almost  certain,  that 


96  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  RUUXD. 

the  little  lad  must  die.  Neither  father  nor  mother  seemed 
alive  to  the  coming  danger;  but  Hinton,  loving  less  than 
they  did,  was  not  blinded.  He  had  seen  scarlet  fever  before, 
he  knew  something  of  its  treatment ;  he  doubted  the  proper 
course  having  ever  been  pursued  here.  One  evening  he  fol 
lowed  the  doctor  from  the  sick-room. 

"  The  child  is  very  ill,"  he  said. 

"  The  child  is  so  ill,"  answered  the  medical  man,  "  that 
humanly  speaking  there  is  very  little  hope  of  his  life." 

"  Good  sir !  "  exclaimed  Hinton,  shocked  at  his  fears  be 
ing  put  into  such  plain  language.  "  Don't  you  see  that  those 
parents'  lives  are  bound  up  in  the  child's,  and  they  know 
nothing  ?  Why  have  you  told  them  nothing  ?  Only  to-night 
his  mother  thought  him  better." 

"  The  fever  is  nearly  over,  and  in  consequence  the  real 
danger  beginning ;  but  I  dare  not  tell  the  mother,  she  would 
break  down.  The  father  is  of  different  stuff,  he  would  bear 
it.  But  there  is  time  enough  for  the  mother  to  know  when 
all  is  over." 

"  I  call  that  cruel.     Why  don't  you  get  in  other  advice  ?  " 

"  My  dear  sir,  they  are  very  poor  people.  Think  of  the 
expense,  and  it  would  be  of  no  use,  no  use  whatever." 

"  Leave  the  expense  to  me,  and  also  the  chance  of  its 
doing  any  good.  I  should  never  have  an  easy  moment  if  I 
let  that  little  lad  die  without  having  done  all  in  my  power. 
Two  heads  are  better  than  one.  Do  you  object  to  consulting 
with  Dr.  H ?  " 

"  By  no  means,  Mr.  Hinton.  He  is  a  noted  authority  on 
such  cases." 

"  Then  be  here  in  an  hour  from  now,  doctor,  and  you 
shall  meet  him." 

Away  flew  Hinton,  and  within  the  specified  time  the 
great  authority  on  such  cases  was  standing  by  litlle  Harold's 
bedside. 

"  The  fever  is  over,  but  the  child  is  sinking  from  exhaus 
tion.  Give  him  a  glass  of  champagne  instantly,"  were  the 
first  directions  given  by  the  great  man. 

Hinton  returned  with  a  bottle  of  the  best  his  money 
could  purchase  in  ten  minutes. 

A  tablespoonful  was  given  to  the  child.  He  opened  his 
eyes  and  seemed  revived. 

"  Ah  1  that  is  good.  I  will  stay  with  the  little  fellow  to 
night,"  said  Dr.  H .  "You,  madam,"  he  added,  look- 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND, 


97 


ing  at  Mrs.  Home,  "  are  to  go  to  bed.     On  no  other  condi 
tion  do  I  stay." 

Hinton  and  Dr.  H shared  that  night's  watch  between 

them,  and  in  the  morning  the  little  life  was  pronounced  safe. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

EMPTY   PURSES. 

IT  was  not  until  Harold's  life  was  really  safe  that  his 
mother  realized  how  very  nearly  he  had  been  taken  from  her. 
But  for  Hinton's  timely  interposition,  and  the  arrival  of  Doc 
tor  H at  the  critical  moment,  the  face  she  so  loved 

might  have  been  cold  and  still  now,  and  the  spirit  have  re 
turned  to  God  who  gave  it. 

Looking  at  the  little  sleeper  breathing  in  renewed  health 
and  life  with  each  gentle  inspiration,  such  a  rush  of  gratitude 
and  over-powering  emotion  came  over  Mrs.  Home  that  she 
was  obliged  to  follow  Hinton  into  his  sitting-room.  There 
she  suddenly  went  down  on  her  knees. 

"  God  bless  you,"  she  said.  "  God  most  abundantly 
bless  you  for  what  you  have  done  for  me  and  mine.  You 
are,  except  my  husband,  the  most  truly  Christian  man  I  ever 
met." 

"  Don't,"  said  Hinton,  moved  and  even  shocked  at  her 
position.  "I  loved — I  love  the  little  lad.  It  is  nothing, 
what  we  do  for  those  we  love." 

"  No  ;  it  is,  as  you  express  it,  nothing  to  save  a  mother's 
heart  from  worse  than  breaking,"  answered  Charlotte  Home. 
"  If  ever  you  marry  and  have  a  son  of  your  own,  you  will  be 
gin  to  understand  what  you  have  done  for  me.  You  will  be 
thankful  then  to  think  of  this  day." 

Then  with  a  smile  which  an  angel  might  have  given  him, 
the  mother  went  away,  and  Hinton  sat  down  to  write  to 
Charlotte.  But  he  was  much  moved  and  excited  by  those 
earnest  words  of  love  and  approval.  He  felt  as  though  a 
laurel  wreath  had  been  placed  on  his  head,  and  he  wondered 
would  his  first  brief,  his  first  sense  of  legal  triumph,  be 
sweeter  to  him  than  the  look  in  that  mother's  face  this  morn 
ing. 


98  HOW  12'  ALL  CAME  ROUXD. 

"  And  it  was  so  easily  won,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  For 
who  but  a  brute  under  the  circumstances  could  have  acted 
otherwise?" 

In  writing  to  Charlotte  he  told  her  all.  It  \vas  a  relief  to 
pour  out  his  heart  to  her,  though  of  course  he  carefully  kept 
back  names. 

By  return  of  post  he  received  her  answer. 

"  I  must  do  something  for  that  mother.  You  will  not 
let  me  come  to  her.  But  if  I  cannot  and  must  not  come,  I 
can  at  least  help  with  money.  How  much  money  shall  I  send 
you  ? " 

To  this  Hinton  answered, — 

"None.  She  is  a  proud  woman.  She  would  not  accept 
it." 

As  he  put  this  second  letter  in  the  post,  he  felt  that  any 
money  gift  between  these  two  Charlottes  would  be  impossible. 
During  little  Harold's  illness,  he  had  put  away  all  thoughts 
of  the  possibility  of  Mrs.  Home  being  entitled  to  any  of  his 
Charlotte's  wealth.  The  near  and  likely  approach  of  death 
had  put  far  from  his  mind  all  ideas  of  money.  But  now, 
with  the  return  of  the  usual  routine  of  life  in  this  small  and 
humble  house,  came  back  to  Hin ton's  mind  the  thoughts 
which  had  so  sorely  troubled  him  on  the  night  on  which 
Charlotte  had  told  him  Mrs.  Home's  story.  For  his  own 
personal  convenience  and  benefit  he  had  put  away  these 
thoughts.  He  had  decided  that  he  could  not  move  hand  or 
foot  in  the  matter.  But  in  the  very  house  with  this  woman, 
though  he  might  so  resolve  not  to  act,  he  could  not  put  the 
sense  of  the  injustice  done  to  her  away  from  his  heart.  He 
pondered  on  it  and  grew  uneasy  as  to  the  righteousness  of 
his  own  conduct.  As  this  uneasiness  gathered  strength,  he 
even  avoided  Mrs.  Home's  presence.  For  the  first  time,  too, 
in  his  life  Hinton  was  beginning  to  realize  wiiat  a  very  ugly 
thing  poverty — particularly  the  poverty  of  the  upper  classes 
— really  is.  To  make  things  easier  for  this  ianiily  in  their 
time  of  illness,  he  had  insisted  on  having  what  meals  i." 
took  in  the  house,  in  the  room  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Home. 
He  would  not,  now  that  Harold  was  better,  change  this  cus 
tom.  But  though  he  liked  it,  it  brought  him  into  direct  con 
tact  with  the  small  shifts  necessary  to  make  so  slender  a. 
purse  as  their's  cover  their  necessary  expenses.  Mr.  Home 
noticed  nothing ;  but  Mrs.  Home's  thin  face  grew  more  and 
more  worn,  and  Hinton's  her.rt  ached  as  he  watched  it.  He 
felt  more  and  more  com1-"1:1  conduct. 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


99 


These  feelings  were  to  be  quickened  into  activity  by  a  very 
natural  consequence  which  occurred  just  then. 

Little  Harold's  life  was  spared,  and  neither  Daisy  nor  the 
baby  had  taken  the  fever.  So  far  all  was  well.  Doctor 

H ,too,  had  ceased  his  visits,  and  the  little  invalid  was  left 

to  the  care  of  the  first  doctor  who  had  been  called  in.  Yes, 
up  to  a  certain  point  Harold's  progress  towards  recovery  was 
all  that  could  be  satisfactory.  But  beyond  that  point  he  did 
not  go.  For  a  fortnight  after  the  fever  left  him  his  progress 
towards  recovery  was  rapid.  Then  came  the  sudden  stand 
still.  His  appetite  failed  him,  a  cough  came  on,  and  a  hectic 
flush  in  the  pale  little  face.  The  child  was  pining  for  a  change 
of  air,  and  the  father's  and  mother's  purse  had  been  already 
drained  almost  to  emptiness  by  the  expenses  of  the  first  illness. 
One  day  when  Doctot  Watson  came  and  felt  the  feeble,  too, 
rapid  pulse  he  looked  grave.  Mrs.  Home  followed  him  from 
the  room. 

"  What  ails  my  boy,  doctor  ?  He  is  making  no  progress, 
none  whatever." 

"  Does  he  sleep  enough  ? "  asked  Doctor  Watson  sud 
denly. 

"  Not  well ;  he  coughs  and  is  restless." 

"  Ah  !  I  am  sorry  he  has  got  that  cough.  How  is  his 
appetite  ? " 

"  He  does  not  fancy  much  food.  He  has  quite  turned 
against  his  beef-tea." 

Doctor  Watson  was  silent. 

"  What  is  wrong  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Home,  coming  nearer  and 
looking  up  into  his  face. 

"  Madam,  there  is  nothing  to  alarm  yourself  with.  Your 
boy  has  gone  through  a  most  severe  illness ;  the  natural  con 
sequences  must  follow.  He  wants  change.  He  will  be  fit 
to  travel  by  easy  stages  in  a  week  at  latest.  I  should  recom 
mend  Torquay.  It  is  mild  and  shielded  from  the  spring  east 
v,  inds.  Take  him  to  Torquay  as  soon  as  possible.  Keep 
him  there  for  a  month,  and  he  will  return  quite  well." 

"  Suppose  I  cannot  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  then "  with  an  expressive  shrug  of  the  shoulders 

and  raising  of  the  brows,  "  my  advice  is  to  take  him  if  pos 
sible.  I  don't  like  that  cough." 

Doctor  Watson  turned  away.  He  felt  sorry  enough,  but 
he  had  more  acute  cases  than  little  Harold  Home's  to  trouble 
him,  and  he  wisely  resolved  that  to  think  about  what  could 
not  be  remedied,  would  but  injure  his  own  powers  of  working. 


100 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


Being  a  really  kind-hearted  man  he  said  to  himself,  "  I  will 
make  their  bill  as  light  as  I  can  when  I  send  it  in."  And 
then  he  forgot  the  poor  curate's  family  until  the  time  came 
round  for  his  next  visit.  Meanwhile  Airs.  Home  stood  still 
for  a  moment  where  he  had  left  her,  then  went  slowly  to  her 
own  room. 

"  Mother,  mother,  I  want  you,"  called  the  weak,  querulous 
voice  of  the  sick  child. 

"  Coming  in  a  moment,  darling,"  she  said.  But  for  that 
one  moment,  she  felt  she  must  be  alone. 

Locking  her  door  she  went  down  o.i  her  knees.  Not  a 
tear  came  to  her  eyes,  not  a  word  to  her  lips.  T  tie  re  was  an 
inward  groan,  expressing  itself  in  some  voiceless  manner 
after  this  fashion, — 

"  My  God,  my  God,  must  I  go  through  the  fiery  furnace  ? " 
Then  smoothing  her  hair,  and  forcing  a  smile  back  to  her 
lips,  she  went  back  to  her  little  son. 

All  that  afternoon  she  sat  with  him,  sin -ing  to  him,  tell 
ing  him  stories,  playing  with  him.  In  the  c .  ening,  however, 
she  sought  an  opportunity  to  speak  to  her  husband  alone. 

"  Angus,  you  know  how  nearly  we  lost  our  boy  a  week 
ago  ? " 

The  curate  paused,  and  looked  at  her  earnestly,  surprised 
at  her  look  and  manner. 

"Yes,  my  dearest,"  he  said.     "  But  God  was  merciful." 

"  Oh  !  Angus,"  she  said  ;  and  now  relief  came  to  her, 
for  as  she  spoke  she  began  to  weep.  "  Ycvi  are  good,  you 
are  brave,  you  could  have  let  him  go.  But  tor  me — for  me 
— it  would  have  killed  me.  I  should  have  died  or  gone 
mad ! " 

"  Lottie  dear — my  darling,  you  are  over-strung.  The 
trial,  the  fiery  trial,  was  not  sent.  Why  dwell  on  what  our 
loving  Father  has  averted  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Angus  !  but  has  He — has  He,"  then  choking  with 
pent-up  emotion,  she  told  what  the  doctor  had  said  to-day, 
how  neccessary  the  expensive  change  was  for  the  little  life. 
"  And  we  have  no  money,"  she  said  in  conclusion,  "  our  purse 
is  very  nearly  empty." 

"  Very  nearly  empty  indeed,"  answered  Angus  Home. 

He  was  absolutely  silent  after  this  news,  no  longer  at 
tempting  to  comfort  his  wife. 

*'  Angus,  God  is  cruel  if  for  the  sake  of  wanting  a  little 
money  our  boy  must  die." 

"  Don't,"   said  the  curate — God  was  so  precious  to  him 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  IOI 

that  these  words  smote  on  him  even  now  with  a  sense  of 
agony — "don't,"  he  repeated,  and  he  raised  his  hand  as 
though  to  motion  away  an  evil  spirit. 

"  He  is  cruel  if  He  lets  our  boy  die  for  want  of  money  to 
save  him,"  repeated  the  mother  in  her  desperation. 

"  He  won't  do  that,  Lottie — He  will  never  do  that,  there 
is  not  the  least  fear." 

"  Then  how  are  we  to  get  the  money  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  I  cannot  think  to-night.  I  will  go  up  to 
Harold  now." 

He  turned  and  left  the  room  with  slow  steps.  As  he 
mounted  the  stairs  his  back  was  so  bent,  his  face  so  gray  and 
careworn,  that  though  scarcely  forty  he  looked  like  an  old 
man. 

This  was  Harold's  one  precious  hour  with  his  father,  and 
the  little  fellow  was  sitting  up  in  bed  and  expecting  him. 

"  Father,"  he  said,  noticing  the  anxious  look  on  his  face, 
which  was  generally  as  serene  and  peaceful  as  the  summer 
sea,  ';what  is  the  matter?  You  are  ill;  are  you  going  to 
have  the  scarlet  fever  too  ?  " 

"  No,  my  dear,  dear  boy.  I  am  quite  well,  quite  well  at 
least  in  body.  I  have  a  care  on  my  mind  that  makes  me  look 
a  little  sad,  but  don't  notice  it,  Harold,  it  will  pass." 

"  You  have  a  care  on  your  mind  !  "  said  Harold  in  a  tone 
of  surprise.  "  I  know  mother  often,  often  has,  but  I  did  not 
think  you  had  cares,  father." 

"  How  can  I  help  it,  boy,  sometimes  ?  " 

"  I  thought  you  gave  your  cares  to  God.  I  don't  under 
stand  a  bit  how  you  manage  it,  but  I  remember  quite  well 
your  telling  mother  that  you  gave  your  cares  away  to  God." 

The  father  turning  round  suddenly,  stooped  down  and 
kissed  the  boy. 

"Thank  you,  my  son,  for  reminding  me.  Yes,  I  will 
give  this  care  too  to  God,  it  shall  not  trouble  me." 

Then  the  two  began  to  talk,  and  the  son's  little  wasted 
hand  was  held  in  the  father's.  The  father's  face  had  recov 
ered  its  serenity,  and  the  little  son,  though  he  coughed  con 
tinually,  looked  happy. 

"  Father,"  he  said  suddenly,  "  there's  just  one  thing  I'm 
sorry  for." 

"  What's  that,  my  boy  ?  " 

"  There  were  a  whole  lot  of  other  things,  father ;  about 
my  never  having  gone  to  live  in  the  country,  and  those  gypsy 
teas  that  mother  told  me  of.  You  light  a  fire  outside,  you 


102  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  KOUXD. 

know,  father,  and  boil  the  kettle  on  it,  and  have  your  tea  in 
the  woods  and  the  fields.  It  must  be  just  delicious.  I  was 
sorry  about  that,  for  I've  never  been  to  one,  never  even  to 
one  all  my  life  long;  and  then  there's  the  pretty  lady — I  do 
want  to  see  my  pretty  lady  once  again.  I  was  sorry  about 
those  things  all  day,  but  not  now.  'Tisn't  any  of  those  things 
makes  me  so  sorry  now." 

"  What  makes  you  sorry,  Harold  ?  " 

"Father,  I'm  just  a  little  bit  jealous  about  Jesus.  You 
see  there's  always  such  a  lot  of  us  little  children  dying  and 
going  to  heaven,  and  He  can't  come  for  us  all,  so  He  has  to 
send  angels.  Now  I  don't  wan't  an  angel,  I  want  Him  to 
come  for  me  Himself." 

"  Perhaps  He  will,  Harold,"  said  his  father,  "  perhaps 
Jesus  will  be  so  very  loving  to  His  little  lamb  that  He  will 
find  time  to  come  for  him  Himself." 

"Oh,  father !  when  you  are  giving  Him  your  new  care  to 
night,  will  you  just  ask  Him  not  to  be  so  dreadfully  busy, 
but  to  try  and  come  Himself  ? " 

"Yes,  Harold,"  said  the  father. 

After  this  promise  little  Harold  went  to  sleep  very  hap 
pily. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

"  THY  WILL   BE   DONE." 

"  You  always  give  your  cares  to  God,"  little  Harold  had 
said  to  his  father. 

That  father,  on  his  knees  with  his  head  bowed  between 
his  hands,  and  a  tempest  of  agony,  of  entreaty  in  his  heart, 
found  suddenly  that  he  could  not  give  this  care  away  to 
God.  For  a  moment,  when  the  boy  had  spoken,  he  ha  i 
Believed  that  this  was  possible,  but  when  little  Harold 
had  himself  spoken  so  quietly  of  dying  and  going  to  Jesus, 
ihe  father's  heart  rose  suddenly  in  the  fiercest  rebellion.  No  ; 
if  it  meant  the  slaying  of  his  first-born  he  could  not  so  quietly 
lay  it  in  the  hands  of  God  and  say,  "Thy  will  be  done."  This 
unearthly  man,  who  had  always  lived  with  a  kind  of  heaven 
sent  radiance  round  his  path,  found  himself  suddenly  human 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  103 

after  all.  His  earthly  arms  clung  tightly  round  the  earthly 
form  of  his  pretty  little  lad  and  would  not  unclasp  themselves. 
it  was  to  this  man  who  had  so  serenely  and  for  many  yer.rs 
walked  in  the  sunshine  of  God's  presence,  with  nothing  to 
hide  his  glory  from  his  eyes,  as  though  he  had  come  up  to  a 
high,  a  blank,  an  utterly  impenetrable  wall,  which  shut  away 
all  the  divine  radiance.  He  could  neither  climb  this  wall, 
nor  could  he  see  one  glimpse  of  God  at  the  dark  side  where 
he  found  himself.  In  an  agony  this  brave  heart  tried  to  pray, 
but  his  voice  would  not  rise  above  his  chamber,  would  not 
indeed  even  ascend  to  his  lips.  He  found  himself  suddenly 
voiceless  and  dumb,  dead  despair  stealing  over  him.  He  did 
not,  however,  rise  from  his  knees,  and  in  this  position  his 
wife  found  him  when, '  late  that  night,  she  came  up  to  bed. 
She  had  been  crying  so  hard  and  so  long  that  by  very  force 
of  those  tears  her  heart  was  lighter,  and  her  husband,  when 
he  raised  his  eyes,  hollow  from  the  terrible  struggle  within, 
to  her  face,  looked  now  the  most  miserable  of  the  two. 
The  mute  appeal  in  his  eyes  smote  on  the  wife's  loving  heart, 
instantly  she  came  over  and  knelt  by  his  side. 

"You  must  come  to  bed,  Angus  dear.  I  have  arranged 
with  Mr.  Hinton,  and  he  v/ill  sit  up  with  our  little  lad  for  the 
next  few  hours." 

"  I  could  not  sleep,  Lottie,"  answered  the  husband. 
"  God  is  coming  to  take  away  our  child  and  I  can't  say,  '  Thy 
will  be  done."  ' 

"  You  can't ! "  repeated  the  wife,  and  now  her  lips  fell 
apart  and  she  gazed  at  her  husband. 

"  No  Lottie  ;  you  called  God  cruel  downstairs,  and  now 
He  looks  cruel  to  me.  I  can't  give  Him  my  first-born.  I 
can't  say  '  Thy  will  be  done ; '  but  oh !  "  continued  the 
wretched  man,  "  this  is  horrible,  this  is  blasphemous.  Oh  ! 
has  God  indeed  forsaken  me  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  no  ! "  suddenly  almost  shrieked  the  wife  ;  "  no, 
no  !  "  she  repeated ;  and  natf  she  had  flung  her  arms  round 
her  husband  and  was  straiuug  him  to  her  heart.  "  Oh,  my 
darling !  my  beloved  !  you  Yr^re  never,  never,  never,  so  near  to 
me,  so  dear  to  me,  as  now.  God  does  not  want  you  to  say 
that,  Angus.  Angus,  it  is  not  God's  will  that  our  child  should 
die,  it  is  Satan's  will,  not  God's.  God  is  love,  and  it  can't  be 
love  to  torture  us,  and  tear  our  darling  away  from  us  like  that. 
The  will  of  God  is  righteousness,  and  love,  and  happiness  ; 
not  darkness,  and  death,  and  misery.  Oh,  Angus  I  let  us  both 


104  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

kneel  here  and  say,  '  Thy  will  be  done,'  for  I  believe  the  will 
of  God  will  be  to  save  the  child." 

A  great  faith  had  suddenly  come  to  this  woman.  She 
lifted  her  voice,  and  a  torrent  of  eloquent  words,,  of  passion 
ate  utterances,  rent  the  air  and  went  up  to  God  from  that 
little  room,  and  the  husband  stole  his  hand  into  the  wife's  as 
she  prayed.  After  this  they  both  slept,  and  Lottie's  heart 
was  lighter  than  it  had  ever  been  in  all  her  life  before. 

The  next  morning  this  lightness,  almost  gayety  of  heart, 
WitZ  still  there.  For  the  time  she  had  really  changed  places 
with  her  husband  ;  for,  believing  that  the  end  would  be  good, 
she  felt  strong  to  endure. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Home  went  downstairs  to  find  Hinton  re 
garding  them  anxiously.  He  had  not  spent  a  long  night  with 
the  sick  child  without  gathering  very  clearly  how  imminent 
was  the  peril  still  hanging  over  the  family.  Harold's  night 
had  been  a  wretched  one,  and  he  was  weaker  this  morning. 
Hinton  felt  that  a  great  deal  more  must  be  done  to  restore 
Harold  to  health  ;  but  he  had  not  heard  what  Dr.  Watson 
had  said,  and  was  therefore  as  yet  in  the  dark  and  much 
puzzled  how  best  to  act.  Seeing  the  mother's  face  serene, 
almost  calm,  as  she  poured  out  the  tea,  and  the  father's 
clouded_over,  he  judged  both  wrongly. 

"  She  is  deceived,"  he  said  of  the  one.  "  He  knows,"  he 
said  of  the  other.  Had  he,  however,  reversed  the  positions 
it  would  have  been  nearer  the  truth. 

He  went  away  with  a  thousand  schemes  in  his  head.  He 
would  visit  the  doctor.  He  would — could  he — might  he,  risk 
a  visit  to  Charlotte  ?  He  was  resolved  that  in  some  way  he 
must  save  the  boy  ;  but  it  was  not  reserved  for  his  hand  to 
do  the  good  deed  on  this  occasion.  After  breakfast  he  went 
out,  and  Mr.  Home,  feeling  almost  like  a  dead  man,  hurried 
off  to  the  daily  service. 

For  a  brief  moment  Charlotte  was  alone.  The  instant 
she  found  herself  so,  she  went  straight  down  on  her  knees, 
and  with  eyes  and  heart  raised  to  heaven,  said,  aloud  and 
fervently, — 

"  Thy  holy,  loving,  righteous  Will  be  done." 

Then  she  got  up  and  went  to  her  little  son.  In  the  course 
of  the  morning  the  boy  said  to  his  mother, — 

"  How  much  I  should  like  to  see  that  pretty  lady." 

"It  would  not  be  safe  for  her  to  come  to  you,  my  dar 
ling,"  said  Mrs.  Home.  "  You  are  not  yet  quite  free  from  in- 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  105 

faction,  and  if  you  saw  her  now  she  might  get  ill.  You  would 
not  harm  your  pretty  lady,  Harold  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed,  mother,  not  for  worlds.  But  if  I  can't  see 
her,"  he  added,  "may  I  have  her  toys  to  play  with  ?  " 

The  mother  fetched  them  and  laid  them  on  the  bed. 

"  And  now  give  me  what  was  in  the  brown  paper  parcels, 
mother.  The  dear,  dear,  dainty  clothes  !  Oh  !  didn't  our 
baby  look  just  lovely  in  his  velvet  frock  ?  Please,  mother, 
may  I  see  those  pretty  things  once  again  ?  " 

Mrs.  Home  could  not  refuse.  The  baby's  pelisse,  Daisy's 
frock,  and  Harold's  own  hat  were  placed  by  his  side.  He 
took  up  the  hat  with  a  great  sigh  of  admiration.  It  was  of 
dark  purple  plush,  with  a  plume  of  ostrich  feathers. 

"  May  I  put  it  on,,  mother  ?  "  asked  the  little  lad. 

He  did  so,  then  asked  for  a  glass  to  look  at  himself. 

"  Ah  ?  "  he  said,  half  crying,  half  frightened  at  his  wasted 
pale  little  face  under  this  load  of  finery,  "  I  don't  like  it  now. 
My  pretty,  pretty  lady's  hat  is  much  too  big  for  me  now.  I 
can't  wear  it.  Oh  !  mother,  wouldn't  she  be  disappointed  ?  " 

"  She  shan't  be,"  said  the  mother,  "for  I  will  draw  in  the 
lining,  and  then  it  will  fit  you  as  well  as  possible." 

"  But  oh  !  mother,  do  be  careful.  I  saw  her  put  in  a  nice 
little  bit  of  soft  paper ;  1  saw  her  put  it  under  the  lining  my 
own  self.  You  will  crush  that  bit  of  paper  if  you  aren't  care 
ful,  mother." 

The  mother  did  not  much  heed  the  little  eager  voice,  she 
drew  in  a  cord  which  ran  round  the  lining,  then  again  placed 
the  hat  on  Harold's  head. 

"  Now  it  fits,  darling,"  she  said. 

"  But  I  think  the  bit  of  paper  is  injured,"  persisted  the 
boy.  "  How  funny  I  should  never  have  thought  of  it  until 
now.  I'll  take  it  out,  mother,  and  you  can  put  it  by  with  the 
other  things." 

The  little  fingers  poked  under  the  lining  and  drew  out 
something  thin  and  neatly  folded. 

"  Look,  look,  mother !  "  he  said  excitedly ;  "  there's  writ 
ing.  Read  it,  mother  ;  read  what  she  said." 

Mrs.  Home  read, — 

"  For  Harold,  with  his  lady's  love." 

She  turned  the  paper.  There,  staring  her  in  the  face, 
lay  a  fresh,  crisp  Bank  of  England  note  for  fifty  pounds. 


I06  HOW  IT  ALL  CslME  ROUNL 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

YOU   KEPT  A  SECRET   FROM    ME." 

HINTON,  when  he  went  away  that  morning,  was,  as  I  have 
said,  very  undecided  now  best  to  act.  He  saw  very  clearly 
the  fresh  danger  arising  to  Harold.  Was  he  but  rescued 
from  the  dangerous  fever  to  fall  a  prey  to  lingering,  or,  per 
haps,  rapid  consumption  ?  Even  his  unprofessional  eye  saw 
the  danger  the  boy  was  in  ;  and  the  boy  himself,  lying  awake 
during  most  of  the  weary  hours  of  the  night,  had  confided  to 
his  friend  some  thoughts  which  it  seemed  to  Hinton  could 
only  come  to  such  a  child  as  the  precursor  of  death.  He 
now  loved  the  boy  for  his  own  sake,  and  he  was  determined, 
even  more  determined  than  during  the  height  of  the  fever,  to 
do  something  to  again  save  his  life. 

After  a  brief  pause  for  rapid  thought,  he  determined  to 
visit  Dr.  Watson.  That  busy  man  was  at  home  and  saw 
Hinton  at  once. 

"  Little  Home  is  no  better,"  said  Hinton,  going  straight, 
as  his  wont  was,  to  the  very  heart  of  his  subject. 

"  He  will  never  be  any  better  unless  he  has  change,"  re 
plied  the  doctor.  "  Neither  I  nor  any  other  man  can  now  do 
more  for  him.  He  requires,  nay,  he  is  dying  for  want  of  na 
ture's  remedies,  complete  change,  fresh,  mild  sea-air.  I  told 
his  mother  so  most  plainly  yesterday.  I  recommended  Tor 
quay  within  a  week  from  now,  if  she  wishes  to  save  his  life.  " 

"  Torquay  is  an  expensive  place,  and  a  very  long  way 
from  London,"  replied  Hinton.  "  It  seems  almost  cruel  to 
tell  Mrs.  Home  to  do  that  for  her  child  which  must  be  utterly 
impossible." 

"  There  is  no  other  chance  for  his  life,"  replied  the  doc 
tor.  "  I  should  be  doing  less  than  my  duty,  did  I  for  a 
moment  conceal  that  fact." 

Hinton  paused  for  a  moment  to  think,  then  he  abruptly 
changed  the  subject. 

"  I  want  to  visit  a  friend  this  morning — a  friend  who  has 
never  had  scarlet  fever.  It  is  rather  important  that  we  should 
meet;  but  I  must  not  risk  danger.  You  know  I  have  been  a 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROtyND.  107 

good  deal  with  the  little  boy.  Is  there  a  risk  to  ray  friend 
in  our  meeting  now  ?  " 

"Change  all  your  clothes,"  replied  the  doctor;  "wear 
nothing  you  have  in  the  Homes'  house.  Perhaps  it  would 
also  be  a  wise  precaution  to  take  a  Turkish  bath.  If  you  do 
all  this  you  may  meet  your  friend  without  the  slightest  risk 
of  evil  consequences." 

Hinton  thanked  the  doctor,  and  as  the  result  of  this  con 
versation  entered  the  dining-room  in  Prince's  Gate  just  as 
Charlotte  was  sitting  down  to  her  solitary  luncheon. 

It  was  over  three  weeks  since  these  two  had  met,  and  the 
long  three  weeks  had  seemed  like  for  ever  to  the  loving 
heart  of  the  woman,  who  was  so  soon  now  to  be  Hinton's 
wife.  She  expressed  her  joy  at  this  unexpected  meeting,  not 
so  much  by  words,  but  so  effectually  with  eyes  and  manner, 
that  Hinton,  as  he  folded  his  arms  round  her,  could  not  help 
a  great  throb  of  thankfulness  rising  up  from  his  heart. 

They  sat  down  to  lunch,  and  then  afterwards  Hinton  told 
Jier  the  story  of  little  Harold  Home.  In  telling  this  tale, 
however,  he  omitted  again  both  name  and  address.  He  had 
not  meant  when  beginning  his  tale  to  keep  these  things  any 
longer  a  mystery  from  her,  but  as  the  words  dropped  from 
him,  and  Charlotte's  eyes  were  fixed  on  his  face,  and  Char 
lotte's  lips  trembled  with  emotion,  some  undefined  sensation 
prompted  him  to  keep  back  these  particulars. 

Hinton,  in  coming  to  Charlotte,  relied  on  her  help,  but  he 
meant  her  just  now  to  bestow  it  as  on  a  stranger.  As  he  had 
expected,  his  tale  aroused  her  warmest  enthusiasm  and  in 
terest. 

"  John,"  she  said,  "  something  must  be  done.  The  boy 
must  not  die  ! " 

"  He  must  go  to  Torquay,"  replied  Hinton.  "  That  is 
most  manifest.  But  the  difficulty  will  be  how.  They  are 
very  proud  people.  The  difficulty  will  be  how  to  induce 
them  to  accept  aid  from  outsiders." 

"  Do  you  think  they  will  be  proud,  John,  when  their  child's 
life  depends  on  their  accepting  some  aid  from  others  ?  I 
don't  think  they  will  allow  so  false  an  emotion  to  sacrifice 
his  little  precious  life.  It  seems  to  me,  that  were  I  in  that 
mother's  place,  I  would  lick  the  dust  off  the  most  menial  feet 
that  ever  walked,  to  save  my  child." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,"  said  Hinton  :  "  there  is  no  doubt 
that  one  woman  can  best  read  the  heart  of  another.  What  I 
propose  is,  that  I  take  the  little  boy  down  to  Torquay  for  a, 


log  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

few  weeks  ;  I  can  make  an  excuse  to  the  mother  on  my  own 
score,  and  it  will  not  seem  so  hard  for  her  to  send  her  boy. 
And  the  little  lad  loves  me,  I  believe." 

"  Would  it  not  be  best  for  the  mother  to  take  her  child 
herself  ? " 

"  It  undoubtedly  would.  But  it  would  be  placing  her 
under  deeper  obligation.  I  want  to  make  it  as  light  as  pos 
sible  to  her." 

"  Then,  John,  you  will  give  me  one  happiness  ?  I  will 
provide  the  money  for  this  expedition." 

"You  shall,  my  dearest,"  answered  Hinton,  stooping 
down  and  kissing  her. 

He  meant  her  to  help  Charlotte  Home  in  this  way,  and 
he  did  not  notice  the  slight  sigh  scarcely  allowed  to  escape 
her  lips.  The  fact  was,  Charlotte  Harman  had  grown  very 
hungry,  almost  starved,  for  her  lover  during  his  three  weeks' 
absence,  and  now  the  thought  that  he  was  going  still  farther 
away  from  her,  and  their  wedding-day  drawing  so  quickly  on, 
could  not  but  excite  a  pang ;  the  selfish  part  of  her  rose  in 
revolt,  and  struggled  to  rebel,  but  with  a  firm  hand  she  kept 
it  well  under,  and  Hinton  never  noticed  her  strangled  little 
sigh.  They  talked  for  a  long  time  of  their  plans,  and  Char 
lotte  mentioned  what  money  she  had  of  her  very  own,  and 
which  could  be  immediately  at  Hinton's  disposal.  In  the 
midst  of  this  conversation,  the  postman's  knock  was  heard, 
and  a  moment  later  a  servant  brought  Charlotte  a  letter.  She 
did  not  recognize  the  handwriting,  and  laid  it  for  a  moment 
unopened  by  her  side.  Then  some  confused  remembrance 
of  having  seen  it  before,  caused  her  to  tear  open  the  enve 
lope.  This  was  what  her  eyes  rested  on. 

"  Charlotte — my  sister  and  friend — I  have  found  the  little 
piece  of  paper  yc-:  put  into  my  Harold's  hat.  I  never  knew 
it  was  there  until  to-day.  Thank  God  I  did  noi  know,  for 
had  I  seen  it  after  your  visit,  I  i  liould  certainly,  in  my  mad, 
ungracious,  evil  pride,  have  returned  it  to  you. 

"  Dear  Charlotte — God  nearly  broke  my  he:.rt  since  I  saw 
vn.  He  nearly  took  my  boy  away.  In  that  process  my 
pride  has  gone,  though  my  love  and  tendern  -ss  and  grati 
tude  to  you  remain,  for  with  this  fifty  pounds  YOU  are  saving 
my  child's  little  life.  Thank  you  for  it.  G  jd  will  bless  you 
for  it.  You  will  never — never  regret  this  deed.  It  will  come 
back  to  you,  the  remembrance  of  it,  in  the  midst  of  your  own 
wealth  and  affluence,  or  if  dark  days  visit  you,  you  will  let 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


109 


your  thoughts  wander  to  it  as  a  place  of  safe  anchorage  in 
the  storm.  It  will,  all  your  life  long,  be  a  source  to  you  of 
rejoicing  that  you  saved  a  father's  and  mother's  hearts  from 
breaking,  and  kept  a  precious  little  life  in  this  world. 

"  I  can  add  no  more  now,  my  dear.  For  this  money  must 
be  spent,  and  at  once.  Oh  !  precious,  valuable  gold,  which 
is  to  keep  Harold  with  me  !  I  will  write  to  you  when  we 
come  back  from  Torquay  ;  do  not  come  to  see  me  before,  it 
would  not  be  safe  for  you. 

"  Ever,  my  dear  friend,  because  of  you,  the  happiest  and 
most  grateful  mother  on  God's  earth, 

"CHARLOTTE  HOME." 

Charlotte  Harman's  face  was  very  white  when,  after  read 
ing  this  letter,  she  raised  her  eyes  to  Hinton's.  What  had 
been  written  with  all  joy  and  thankfulness  was  received  with 
pain.  Why  had  Hinton  kept  this  thing  from  her  ?  Why  had 
he  not  told  her  where  he  had  been  staying  ? 

"  You  kept  a  secret  from  me,"  she  said,  and  her  eyes 
filled  with  heavy  tears. 

Then  as  he  tried  to  comfort  her,  being  very  compunctious 
himself  at  having  failed  utterly  to  trust  one  so  brave  and 
noble,  she  suddenly  drew  herself  from  his  embrace. 

"  John,"  she  said,  with  some  pride  in  her  voice,  "  did  you 
in  any  degree  keep  this  thing  from* me  because  you  believed 
Mrs.  Home's  story  about  my  grandfather's  will  ?  " 

"  I  had  a  thousand  nameless  reasons  for  not  telling  you, 
Charlotte.  My  principal  one  after  the  child  got  ill  was  my 
fear  that  you  would  come  to  the  house,  and  so  run  the  risk 
of  infection." 

"  Then  you  do  not  at  all  believe  Mrs.  Home's  story  ? " 

"  I  have  not  investigated  it,  my  darling.  I  have  done 
nothing  but  simply  listen  to  what  you  yourself  told  me.  You 
do  not  believe  it  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not !  How  could  I  ?  It  implicates  my 
father." 

"  We  will  not  think  of  it,  Charlotte." 

"  We  must  think  of  it,  for  justice  must  be  done  to  this 
woman  and  to  her  children ;  and  besides,  I  wish  to  clear  it 
up,  for  I  will  not  have  my  father  blamed." 

Hinton  was  silent.  Charlotte  gazed  at  him  eagerly,  his 
silence  dissatisfied  her.  His  whole  manner  carried  the  convic 
tion  that  his  faith  in  her  father  was  by  no  means  equal  to  hers. 

"  Ts  it  possible  to  see  wills  ? "  she  asked  suddenly. 


HO  hOW  IT  AJLL  CAME  ROUND. 

"  Certainly,  dear ;  anybody  can  see  any  will  by  paying  a 
shilling,  at  Somerset  House." 

"Would  my  grandfather's  will  be  kept  at  Somerset 
House  ? " 

"  Yes.     All  wills  are  kept  there." 

"Then,"  said  Charlotte,  rising  as  she  spoke,  "before  our 
wedding-day  I  will  go  to  Somerset  House  and  read  my  grand 
father's  will." 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THEY   RECALL  TOO   MUCH. 

MR.  HARMAN  had  a  hard  task  before  him.  He  was  keep 
ing  two  things  at  bay,  two  great  and  terrible  things,  Death 
and  Thought.  They  were  pursuing  him,  they  were  racing 
madly  after  him,  and  sometimes  the  second  of  these  his 
enemies  so  far  took  possession  of  him  as  to  grasp  him  by  the 
heartstrings.  But  though  he  knew  well  that  in  the  end  both 
one  and  the  other  would  conquer  and  lay  him  low,  yet  still 
he  was  in  a  measure  victor.  That  strong  nourishment,  those 
potent  medicines  were  keeping  the  life  in  him  ;  while  his  still 
eager  absorption  in  business  prevented  that  time  for  reflection 
which  was  worse  than  death.  His  medical  man,  knowing 
nothing  of  his  inner  history,  had  begged  of  him  to  rest,  to 
give  up  business,  assuring  him  that  by  so  doing  he  would 
prolong  his  short  span  of  life.  But  Harman  had  answered, 
and  truly,  "  If  I  give  up  business  I  shall  be  in  my  grave  in  a 
fortnight ; "  and  there  was  such  solemn  conviction  in  his 
voice  and  manner,  that  the  physician  was  fain  to  bow  to  the 
dictum  of  his  patient.  Except  once  to  his  brother  Jasper, 
and  once  to  Hinton,  Mr.  Harman  had  mentioned  to  no  one 
how  near  he  believed  his  end  to  be.  The  secret  was  not 
alluded  to,  the  master  of  the  house  keeping  up  bravely,  bear 
ing  his  pains  in  silence  and  alone,  and  that  subtle  element 
of  rejoicing  began  to  pervade  this  quiet,  luxurious  home 
which  precedes  a  wedding.  Only  one  in  the  dwelling  ever 
thought  of  funeral  gloom. 

Little  Harold  Home  had  gone  to  Torquay  with  his  mother. 
Hinton  was  once  more  free  to  go  in  and  out  of  the  house  in 


HO  W  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  Ill 

Prince's  Gate,  and  he  and  Charlotte  were  necessarily  much 
occupied  with  each  other.  There  seemed  to  these  two  so 
much  to  be  done,  and  the  time  seemed  so  short  until  the 
twentieth  c£  April,  that  had  the  very  sun  stood  still  for  them, 
they  would  have  felt  no  undue  sensation  of  surprise. 

When  people  are  about  to  step  into  the  Garden  of  Eden 
even  nature  must  sympathize,  and  marriage  seemed  that  to 
Charlotte  and  Hinton.  After  their  wedding  tour  it  was  ar 
ranged  that  they  were  to  come  to  the  house  in  Prince's  Gato. 
For  some  time  Mr.  Harman  had  begged  them  to  make  it 
their  home  ;  but  though  Hinton  could  not  oppose,  he  had  a 
hope  of  some  day  settling  down  in  a  smaller  house.  He  liked 
the  power  which  wealth  could  give,  but  he  was  so  unused  to 
luxuries,  that  they  were  in  themselves  almost  repellent  to 
him.  Charlotte,  on  the  contrary,  was  perfectly  happy  to  live 
in  the  old  place.  Home  to  this  womanly  heart  was  wherever 
her  loved  ones  were ;  and  she  also  acceded  joyfully  to 
another  question  which  otherwise  might  have  appeared  a 
little  either  strange  or  selfish.  Her  father  begged  of  her  not 
to  extend  her  wedding  tour  beyond  a  week.  '  "  Come  back 
to  me,"  said  the  old  man,  "  at  the  end  of  a  week ;  let  me 
feel  that  comfort  when  you  say  good-by  on  your  wedding- 
day." 

Charlotte  had  promised,  with  her  arms  round  his  neck  ar;d 
her  bright  hair  touching  his  silver  locks.  And  now  April  had 
set  in,  and  the  days  flew  fast.  All  was  bustle  and  confusion, 
and  milliners  and  dressmakers  worked  as  though  there  had 
never  been  a  bride  before,  and  Charlotte,  too,  believed  there 
had  never  been  so  happy,  so  fortunate,  so  altogether  blessed 
a  woman  as  herself. 

One  of  those  spring  days,  for  the  weather  was  particularly 
lovely,  Mr.  Harman  came  home  earlier  than  usual  and  went 
to  his  study.  For  no  special  reason  he  had  found  it  impos 
sible  to  settle  to  any  active  work  that  morning.  He  had 
hastened  home,  and  now  taking  his  accustomed  medicine, 
lay  back  in  his  armchair  to  rest.  The  medicine  he  had 
taken  was  partly  of  a  sedative  character,  but  to-day  it  failed 
in  all  soothing  effects.  That  bloodhound  Thought  was  near, 
and  with  a  bound  k  sprang  forward  and  settled  its  fangs  into 
his  heartstrings. 

Mr.  Harman  could  not  sit  still,  he  rose  and  began  to  pace 
his  room.  Stay — how  could  he  quiet  this  monster  of  remorse 
and  reflection  ?  Would  death  doit  by  and  by?  He  shook 
his  head  as  this  idea  came  to  him.  Were  death  but  an  anni- 


H2  110 IV  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

hilation  he  could,  would,  how  gladly,  welcome  it,  but  all  his 
firmest  convictions  pointed  to  a  God  and  a  future.  A  future  to 
him  meant  retribution.  He  found  it  absolutely  impossible  to 
comfort  his  heart  with  so  false  a  doctrine  as  that  of  annihila 
tion.  In  the  midst  of  his  meditations  his  brother  Jasper 
entered. 

"  Good  Heavens  ! .  John,  you  do  look  bad  !  "  he  exclaimed 
almost  in\  oluntarily,  noticing  the  anguish  on  the  fine  old 
face. 

"  I'm  a  very  miserable  man,"  answered  John  Harman, 
and  he  sank  down  into  a  chair  as  he  spoke. 

"I  would  not  think  so  much  about  my  health,''  said 
Jasper  ;  "  doctors  are  the  most  mistaken  fools  under  the  sun. 
I  knew  a  man  out  in  Australia,  and  the  first  medical  man  in 
Sydney  told  him  he  had  not  a  week  to  live.  He  came  home 
and  made  his  will  and  bid  all  his  relations  good-by.  Well, 
what  were  the  consequences  ?  The  week  came  to  an  end, 
but  not  the  man  ;  my  dear  John,  that  man  is  alive  now,  and 
what  is  more,  he  is  in  the  enjoyment  of  perfect  health.  The 
doctor  was  all  wrong ;  they  are  mortal  like  ourselves,  man, 
and  by  no  means  infallible.  I  would  not  take  my  death  for 
granted,  if  I  were  you ;  I  would  determine  to  take  out  a 
fresh  lease  of  life  when  Charlotte  is  married.  Determination 
does  wonders  in  such  cases." 

"  I  am  not  thinking  of  my  death,"  answered  Mr.  Harman  ; 
w  were  death  but  all,  I  could  almost  welcome  it.  No,  it  is 
not  death,  it  is  memory.  Jasper,"  he  added,  turning  fiercely 
on  his  brother,  "  you  were  as  the  very  devil  to  me  once,  why 
do  you  come  to  preach  such  sorry  comfort  now  ?  " 

Jasper  Hannan  had  an  impenetrable  face,  but  at  these 
words  it  turned  a  shade  pale.  He  went  to  the  fire  and 
stirred  it,  he  put  on  more  coul,  he  even  arranged  in  a  rather 
noisy  way  one  or  two  of  the  chimney  ornaments. 

"  If  only  that  trustee  had  not  died  just  then — and  if  only 
— only  you  had  not  tempted  me,"  continued  the  elder 
man. 

"  You  forget,  John,"  suddenly  said  Jasper,  "  what  the  al 
ternative  would  have  been  just  then,  absolute  ruin,  ruin 
coupled  with  disgrace  !  " 

"  I  do  not  believe  in  the  disgrace,  and  as  to  the  ruin,  we 
could  have  started  afresh.  Oh  !  to  start  even  now  with  but 
sixpence  in  my  pocket,  and  with  clean  hands !  What 
would  have  been  the  old  disgrace  compared  to  the  present 
misery  ?  " 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  I1<3 

"  Take  comfort,  John,  no  one  knows  of  it ;  and  if  we  are 
but  careful  no  one  need  ever  know.  Don't  excite  yourself, 
be  but  careful,  and  no  one  need  ever  know." 

"  God  knows,"  answered  the  white-headed  elder  brother. 
And  at  these  words  Jasper  again  turned  his  face  away.  After 
a  time,  in  which  he  thought  briefly  and  rapidly,  he  turned, 
and  sitting  down  by  John,  began  to  speak. 

"  Something  has  come  to  my  knowledge  which  may  be  a 
comfort  to  you.  I  did  not  mention  it  earlier,  because  in  your 
present  state  of  health  I  know  you  ought  not  to  worry  your 
self.  But  as  it  seems  you  are  so  over-sensitive,  I  may  as  well 
mention  thai:  it  will  be  possible  for  vou  to  make  reparation 
without  exposing  yourself." 

"  How  ? "  asked  Mr.  Harman. 

"  I  know  where  Daisy  Harman's  daughter  lives — you  know 
we  completely  lost  sight  of  her.  I  believe  she  is  poor ;  she 
is  married  to  a  curate,  all  curates  are  poor ;  they  have  three 
children.  Suppose,  suppose  you  settled,  say,  well,  half 
the  money  her  mother  had  for  her  lifetime,  on  this 
young  woman.  That  would  be  seventy-five  pounds  a  year  ; 
a  great  difference  seventy-five  pounds  would  make  in  a  poor 
home." 

"  A  little  of  the  robbery  paid  back,"  said  Mr.  Harman 
with  a  dreary  smile.  "  Jasper,  you  are  a  worse  rogue  than  I 
am,  and  I  believe  you  study  the  Bible  less.  God  knows  I 
don't  care  to  confront  myself  with  its  morality,  but  I  have  a 
memory  that  it  recommends,  nay,  commands,  in  the  case  of 
restoring  again,  or  of  paying  back  stolen  goods,  that  not  half 
should  be  given,  but  the  whole,  multiplied  fourfold  !  " 

"Such  a  deed,  as  Quixotic  as  unnecessary,  could  not  be 
done,  it  would  arouse  suspicion,"  said  Jasper  decidedly. 

After  this  the  two  brothers  talked  together  for  son.e  time. 
Jasper  quiet  and  calm,  John  disturbed  and  perplexed,  too 
perplexed  to  notice  that  the  younger  and  harder  man  was 
keeping  back  part  of  the  truth.  But  conversation  agitated 
John  Harman,  agitated  him  so  much  that  that  evening  some  of 
the  veil  was  torn  from  his  daughter's  eyes,  for  during  dinner 
he  fainted  away.  Then  there  was  commotion  and  dismay, 
and  the  instant  sending  for  doctors,  and  John  Hinton  and 
Jasper  Harman  both  felt  almost  needless  alarm. 

When  the  old  man  came  to  himself  he  found  his  head 
resting  on  his  daughter's  shoulder.  During  all  the  time  he 
was  unconscious  she  had  eyes  and  ears  for  no  one  else. 

"  Leave  me  alone  with  the  child,"  he  said  feebly  to  all  the 


1 14  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

others.  When  they  were  gone,  he  looked  at  her  anxious 
young  face.  "There  is  no  cause,  my  darling,  no  cause  what 
ever  ;  what  does  one  faint  signify  ?  Put  your  arms  round 
me,  Charlotte,  and  I  shall  feel  quite  well." 

She  did  so,  laying  her  sott  cheek  against  his. 

"  Now  you  shall  see  no  one  but  me  to-night,"  she  said, 
"  and  I  shall  sit  with  you  the  whole  evening,  and  you  must 
lie  still  and  not  talk.  You  are  ill,  father,  and  you  have  tried 
to  keep  it  from,  me." 

"  A  little  weak  and  unfit  for  much  now,  I  confess."  he  said 
in  a  tone  of  relief.  He  saw  she  was  not  seriously  alarmed, 
and  it  was  a  comfort  to  confide  so  far  in  her. 

"  You  are  weak  and  tired,  and  need  rest,"  she  said  : 
"  you  shall  see  no  one  to-night  but  me,  and  I  will  stay  with 
you  the  whole  evening  !  " 

"What !  "  said  her  father,  "  you  will  give  up  Hinton  for 
me,  Lottie ! " 

"  Even  that  I  will  do  for  you,"  she  said,  and  she  stooped 
and  kissed  his  gray  head. 

"  I  believe  you  love  me,  Lottie.  I  shall  think  of  that  all 
the  week  you  are  away.  You  are  sure  you  will  only  remain 
away  one  week  ?  " 

"  Father,  you  and  I  have  never  been  parted  before  in  all 
my  life  ;  I  promise  faithfully  to  come  back  in  a  week,"  she 
answered. 

He  smiled  at  this,  and  allowing  her  still  to  retain  his 
hand  in  hers,  sank  into  a  quiet  sleep.  While  he  slept 
Charlotte  sat  quietly  at  his  feet.  She  felt  perplexed  and 
irresolute.  Her  father's  fainting  fit  had  alarmed  her,  and 
now,  looking  into  his  face,  even  to  her  inexperience,  the 
ravages  which  disease,  both  mental  and  physical,  had  brought 
there  could  not  but  be  apparent  to  her.  She  had  to  acknowl 
edge  to  herself  that  her  father,  only  one  year  her  Uncle 
Jasper's  senior,  looked  a  very  old,  nay,  she  could  not  shut 
her  eyes  to  the  fact,  a  very  unhappy  man.  What  brought 
that  look  on  his  face  ?  A  look  which  she  acknowledged  to 
herself  she  had  seen  there  all  her  life,  but  which  seemed  to 
be  growing  in  intensity  with  his  added  years.  She  clcsed 
her  own  eyes  with  a  pang  as  a  swift  thought  of  great  anguish 
came  over  her.  This  thought  passed  as  quickly  as  it  came  : 
in  her  remorse  at  having  entertained  it  she  stooped  down 
and  kissed  the  withered  old  hand  which  si.il!  lay  in  hers. 

It  was  impossible  for  Charlotte  really  to  doubt  her 
father ;  but  occupied  as  she  was  with  her  wedding  prepara- 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  £I^ 

ticns,  and  full  of  brightness  as  her  sky  undoubtedly  looked 
to  her  just  now,  she  had  not  forgotten  Hinton's  manner 
when  she  had  asked  him  what  faith  he  put  in  Mrs.  Home's 
story.  Hinton  had  evaded  her  inquiry.  This  evasion  was 
as  much  as  owning  that  he  shared  Mrs.  Home's  suspicions. 
Charlotte  must  clear  up  her  beloved  father  in  the  eyes  of 
that  other  beloved  one.  If  on  all  hands  she  was  warned 
not  to  agitate  him,  there  was  another  way  in  which  she  could 
do  it :  she  could  read  her  grandfather's  will.  But  though 
she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  do  this,  she  had  an  unaccount 
able  repugnance  to  the  task.  For  the  first  time  in  all  her 
open,  above-board  life  she  would  be  doing  something  which 
she  must  conceal  from  her  father.  Even  John  Hinton 
should  not  accompany  her  to  Somerset  House.  She  must 
find  the  will  and  master  its  contents,  and  the  deed  once 
done,  what  a  relief  to  her  !  With  what  joy  would  she  with 
her  own  lips  chase  away  the  cloud  which  she  felt  sure  rested 
over  her  beloved  father  in  her  lover's  heart ! 

"  It  is  possible  that,  dearly  as  we  love  each  other,  such 
a  little  doubt  might  divide  us  by  and  by,"  she  said  to  her 
self.  "  Yes,  yes,  it  is  right  that  I  should  dissipate  it,  abso 
lutely  right,  when  I  feel  so  very,  very  sure." 

At  this  moment  her  father  stirred  in  his  sleep,  and  she 
distinctly  heard  the  words  drop  from  his  lips — 

"  I  would  make  reparation." 

Before  she  had  even  time  to  take  these  words  in,  he  had 
opened  his  eyes  and  was  gazing  at  her. 

"  You  are  better  now,"  she  said,  stooping  down  and  kiss 
ing  him. 

"  Yes,  my  darling  ;  much,  much  better."  He  sat  up  as 
he  spoke,  and  made  an  effort  to  put  on  at  least  a  show  of 
life  and  vigor.  "  A  man  of  my  age  fainting,  Charlotte,  is 
nothing,"  he  said ;  "  really  nothing  whatever.  You  must 
not  dwell  on  it  again." 

"  I  will  not,"  she  said. 

Her  answer  comforted  him  and  he  became  really  brighter 
and  better. 

"  It  is  nice  to  have  you  all  to  myself,  my  little  girl ; 
it  is  very  nice.  Not  that  I  grudge  you  to  Hinton  ;  I  have  a 
great  regard  for  Hinton ;  but,  my  darling,  you  and  I  have 
been  so  much  to  each  other.  We  have  never  in  all  our  lives 
had  one  quarrel." 

"  Quarrel,  father !  of  course  not.  How  can  those  who 
love  as  we  do  quarrel." 


!l6  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

"  Sometimes  they  do,  Lottie.  Thank  God,  such  an 
experience  cannot  visit  you  ;  but  it  comes  to  some  and 
darkens  everything.  I  have  known  it." 

"You  have,  father?"  In  spite  of  herself,  Charlotte 
felt  her  voice  trembling. 

"  I  had  a  great  and  terrible  quarrel  with  my  father, 
Charlotte  ;  my  father  who  seemed  once  as  close  to  me  as 
your  father  is  to  you.  He  married  again,  and  the  marriage 
displeased  me,  and  such  bitter  words  passed  between  us, 
that  for  years  that  old  man  and  I  did  not  speak.  For  years, 
the  last  years  of  his  life,  we  were  absolutely  divided.  We 
made  it  up  in  the  end ;  we  were  one  again  when  he  died ; 
but  what  happened  then  has  embittered  my  whole  life — my 
whole  life." 

Charlotte  was  silent,  though  the  color  was  coming  into 
her  cheeks  and  her  heart  began  to  beat. 

"  And  to-day,  Lottie,"  continued  Mr.  Harman,  "to-day 
your  uncle  Jasper  told  me  about  my  father's  little  daughter. 
You  have  never  heard  of  her  ;  she  was  a  baby-child  when  I  saw 
her  last.  There  were  many  complications  after  my  father's 
death ;  complications  which  you  must  take  on  trust,  for  I 
cannot  explain  them  to  you.  They  led  to  my  never  seeing 
that  child  again.  Lottie,  though  she  "was  my  little  half- 
sister,  she  was  quite  young,  not  older  than  you,  and  to-day 
Jasper  told  me  about  her.  He  knows  where  she  lives  ;  she 
is  married  and  has  children,  and  is  poor.  I  could  never, 
never  bring  myself  to  look  on  her  face ;  but  some  day,  not 
when  I  am  alive,  but  some  day  you  may  know  her  ;  I  should 
like  you  to  know  her  some  day,  and  to  be  kind  to  her.  She 
has  been  hardly  treated,  into  that  too  I  cannot  go ;  but  I 
must  set  it  right.  I  mean  to  give  her  money ;  you  will  not 
be  quite  so  rich ;  you  won't  mind  that  ?  " 

"  Mind  it !  mind  it !  Oh,  father  !  "  And  Charlotte  suddenly 
began  to  weep ;  she  could  not  help  that  sudden,  swift  shower, 
though  she  struggled  hard  to  repress  it,  seeing  how  her  father 
trembled,  and  how  each  moment  he  looked  more  agitated. 

"  D.J  you  know,"  she   said,  checking  her  sobs  as  soon  as 
she  possibly  could,  "  that  Uncle  Jasper,  too,  has  told  me  that . 
~tory ;  he  asked  me  not  to  speak  of  it  to  you,  for  you  would 
only  be  upset.     He  said  how  much  you  took  to  heart,  even 
still,  that  time  when  your  father  was  angry  with  you." 

"And  I  an^ry  wiih  him,  Lottie;  and  I  with  him.  Don't 
forget  that." 

"  Yes,   dear  father,  he  told  me  the  tale.     I  longed  to 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


117 


come  to  you  with  it,  for  it  puzzled  me,  but  he  would  not  let 
me.  Father,  I,  too,  have  seen  that  little  sister ;  she  is  not 
little  now,  she  is  tall  and  noble-looking.  She  is  a  sweet  and 
brave  woman,  and  she  has  three  of  the  most  lovely  children 
I  ever  saw  ;  her  children  are  like  angels.  Ah  !  I  shall  be 
glad  to  help  that  woman  and  those  children.  I  cannot  thank 
you  enough  for  doing  this." 

"  Doirt  thank  me,  child  ;  in  God's  name  don't  thank  me." 

"  If  you  could  but  see  those  children." 

"  I  would  not  see  them ;  I  would  not ;  I  could  not. 
Charlotte,  you  don't  know  what  bygone  memories  are  to  an 
old  man  like  me.  I  could  never  see  either  the  mother  or 
the  children.  Lottie,  tell  me  nothing  more  about  them  ;  if 
you  love  me  never  mention  their  names  to  me.  They  recall 
too  much,  and  I  am  weak  and  old.  I  will  help  them ;  yes, 
before  God  I  promise  to  help  them  ;  but  I  can  never  either 
see  or  speak  of  them,  they  recall  too  much." 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

HAD  HE  SEEN  A   GHOST  ? 

AT  this  time  Jasper  Harman  was  a  very  perplexed  man. 
Unnke  his  brother  John,  he  was  untroubled  by  remorse. 
Though  so  outwardly  good-tempered  and  good-natured,  his 
old  heart  was  very  hard  ;  and  though  the  arrows  of  past 
sins  and  past  injustices  might  fly  around  him,  they  could 
not  visit  the  inner  shrine  of  that  adamantine  thing  which  he 
carried  about  instead  of  a  heart  of  flesh  within  him. 

What  the  painful  process  must  be  which  would  restore  to 
Jasper  Harman  the  warm  living  heart  of  a  little  child,  one 
must  shudder  even  to  contemplate.  At  present  that  process 
had  not  begun.  But  though  he  felt  no  remorse  whatever, 
and  stigmatized  his  brother  as  an  old  fool,  he  had  consider 
able  anxiety. 

There  was  an  ugly  secret  in  the  back  parts  of  these  two 
brothers'  lives ;  a  secret  which  had  seemed  all  these  years 
safe  and  buried  in  the  grave,  but  over  which  now  little  lights 
were  beginning  to  pour.  How  could  Jasper  plaster  up  the 


!  rg  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

crevices  and  restore  the  thing  to  its  silent  grave  ?  Upon 
this  problem  he  pondered  from  morning  to  night. 

He  did  not  like  that  growing  anxiety  of  his  brother's  ;  he 
could  not  tell  to  what  mad  act  it  would  lead  him ;  he  did 
not  like  a  new  look  of  fear  which,  since  her  father's  fainting 
fit,  he  had  seen  on  Charlotte's  smooth  brow ;  he  did  not  like 
Mrs.  Home  coming  and  boldly  declaring  that  an  injustice  had 
been  done  ;  he  felt  that  between  them  Ihese  foolish  and 
miserable  people  would  pull  a  disgraceful  old  secret  out  of 
its  grave,  unless  he,  Jasper  Harman,  could  outwit  them. 
What  a  blessing  that  that  other  trustee  was  dead  and 
buried,  and  that  he,  Jasper  Harman,  had  really  stood  over 
his  grave.  Yes,  the  secret  which  he  and  his  brother  had 
guarded  so  faithfully  for  over  twenty  years  might  remain  for 
ever  undiscovered  if  only  common  sense,  the  tiniest  bit  of 
common  sense,  was  exercised.  Jasper  paced  his  room  as  he 
thought  of  this.  Yes,  there  could  be  no  fear,  unless — here 
he  stood  still,  and  a  cold  dew  of  sudden  terror  stole  over 
him — suppose  that  young  woman,  that  wronged  young  woman, 
Charlotte  Home,  should  take  it  into  her  head  to  go  and  read 
her  father's  will.  The  will  could  not  be  put  away.  For  the 
small  sum  of  one  shilling  she  might  go  and  master  the  con 
tents,  and  then  the  whole  fraud  would  be  laid  bare.  Was  it 
likely  that  Mrs.  Home  would  do  this  ?  Jasper  had  only  seen 
her  for  a  moment,  but  during  that  brief  glance  he  read  deter 
mination  and  fixity  of*  purpose  in  her  eyes  and  mouth.  He 
must  trust  that  this  thought  would  not  occur  to  her ;  but 
what  a  miserable  uncertainty  this  was  to  live  in  !  He  did 
not  know  that  the  graver  danger  lay  still  nearer  home,  and 
that  his  own  niece  Charlotte  was  already  putting  the  match 
to  this  mine  full  of  gunpowder.  No,  clever  as  he  thought 
himself,  he  was  looking  for  the  danger  at  the  front  door, 
when  it  was  approaching  him  by  the  back. 

After  ma.ny  days  of  most  anxious  thought  he  resolved  to 
go  and  see  the  Homes,  for  something  must  be  done,  and  he 
could  feel  his  way  better  if  he  knew  something  of  his  op 
ponents. 

Getting  Mr.  Home's  address  in  the  Post  Office  Directory, 
for  he  would  not  betray  himself  by  questioning  Charlotte,  he 
started  off  one  evening  to  walk  to  Kentish  Town.  He  ar 
rived  in  the  dusk,  and  by  good  fortune  or  otherwise,  as  he 
liked  best  to  term  it,  the  curate  was  at  h^me,  and  so  far  dis 
engaged  as  to  be  able  to  give  him  a  little  leisure  time. 

Jasper  sent  in  his  card,  and  the  little  maid,  Anne,  showed 


HO IV  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


119 


him  into  the  small  parlor.  There  was  a  musty,  unused 
smell  in  the  dingy  little  room,  for  Mrs.  Home  was  still  at 
Torquay,  and  the  curate  during  her  absence  mostly  occupied 
his  study.  The  maid,  however,  turned  on  the  gas,  and  as 
she  did  so  a  small  girl  of  four  slipped  in  behind  her.  She 
was  a  very  pretty  child,  with  gray  eyes  and  black  eyelashes, 
and  she  stared  in  the  full,  frank  manner  of  infancy  at  old 
Jasper.  She  was  not  a  shy  child,  and  felt  so  little  fear  of 
this  good-natured,  cherry-cheeked  old  man,  that  when  Anne 
withdrew  she  still  remained  in  the  room. 

Jasper  had  a  surface  love  for  children  ;  he  would  not  take 
any  trouble  about  them,  but  they  amused  him,  and  he  found 
pleasure  in  watching  their  unsophisticated  ways.  His  good- 
natured,  smiling  face  appealed  to  a  certain  part  of  Daisy 
Home,  not  a  very  high  part  certainly,  but  with  the  charming 
frankness  of  babyhood,  the  part  appealed  to  gave  utterance 
to  its  desire. 

"  Have  'ou  brought  me  a  present  ? "  she  demanded,  run 
ning  up  to  old  Jasper  and  laying  her  hand  on  his  knee. 

"  No,  my  dear,"  he  replied  quickly.  "  I'm  so  sorry ;  I 
forgot  it." 

"  Did  'ou  ? "  said  Daisy,  puckering  her  pretty  brows  ; 
''Then  'ou're  not  like  our  pretty  lady;  she  did  not  forget; 
she  brought  lots  and  lots  and  lots." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  replied  Jasper ;  "  I  will  think  of  it 
next  time."  And  then  Mr.  Home  coming  in,  the  two  went 
into  the  little  study. 

"I  am  your  wife's  half-brother,"  said  Jasper,  introducing 
himself  without  preface,  for  he  had  marked  out  his  line  of 
action  before  he  came. 

"  Indeed  !  "  replied  Mr.  Home.  He  was  not  a  man  easily 
surprised,  but  this  announcement  did  bring  a  slight  color  into 
his  face.  "  You  are  Mr.  Harman,"  he  repeated.  "  I  am 
sorry  my  wife  is  away.  She  is  staying  at  Torquay  with  our 
eldest  boy,  who  has  been  ill.  She  has  seen  your  daughter." 

"  Not  my  daughter,  sir,  my  niece — a  fine  girl,  but  Quixotic, 
a  little  fanciful  and  apt  to  take  up  whims,  but  a  fine  girl  for 
all  that." 

"  I,  too,  have  seen  Miss  Harman,"  answered  Mr.  Home. 
"  I  met  her  once  in  Regent's  Park,  and,  without  knowing 
anything  about  us,  she  was  good  to  our  children.  You  must 
pardon  me,  sir,  if  in  expressing  the  same  opinion  about  her 
we  come  to  it  by  different  roads.  It  seems  to  me  that  the 


120  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  KOr.\'D. 

fine  tn-.Ls  in  Miss  Harman's  character  are  due\.o  her  Quixotic 
or  umvorlclly  .spirit." 

For  a  moment  Jasper  Harman  felt  puzzled,  then  he 
chuckled  inwardly.  ^  The  man  who  says  that,  is  unworldly 
himself,  therefore  unpractical.  So  much  the  better  for  my 
purpose."  Aloud  he  said,  "  Doubtless  you  put  the  case  best, 
sir ;  but  I  will  not  tai^c  up  your  valuable  time  discussing  my 
niece's  virtues.  I  have  come  to  talk  to  you  on  a  little  matter 
of  business.  Your  wife  has  told  you  her  story  ?  " 

"  My  wife  has  certainly  concealed  nothing  from  me,"  re 
plied  Mr  Home. 

"  She  has  mentioned  her  father's  very  curious  will  ?  '' 

"  His  very  unjust  will,"  corrected  Mr.  Home. 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  agree  with  you,  it  was  unjust.  It  is  to  talk 
to  you  about  that  will  I  have  come  to  you  to-night." 

"  Sit  nearer  to  the  fire,"  replied  Mr.  Home,  poking  up 
the  handful  in  the  grate  into  as  cheerful  a  blaze  as  circum 
stances  would  permit. 

"  It  was,  as  you  say,  an  unjust  will,"  proceeded  old  Jasper, 
peering  hard  with  his  short-sighted  eyes  at  the  curate,  and 
trying  to  read  some  emotion  beneath  his  very  grave  exterior. 
Being  unable  to  fathom  the  depths  of  a  character  which  was 
absolutely  above  the  love  of  money,  he  felt  perplexed,  he 
scarcely  liked  this  great  self-possession.  Did  this  Home  know 
too  much  ?  "  It  was  an  unjust  will,"  he  repeated, "  and  took  my 
brother  and  myself  considerably  by  surprise.  Our  father 
seemed  fond  of  his  young  wife,  and  we  fully  expected  that  he 
would  leave  her  and  her  child  well  provided  for.  However, 
my  dear  sir,  the  facts  could  not  be  disputed.  Her  name 
was  not  mentioned  at  all.  The  entire  property  was  left 
principally  to  my  elder  brother  John.  He  and  I  were  partners 
in  business.  Our  father's  money  was  convenient,  and  en 
abled  us  to  grow  rich.  At  the  time  our  father  died  we  were 
very  struggling.  Perhaps  the  fact  that  the  money  was  so 
necessary  to  us  just  then  made  us  think  less  of  the  widow 
than  we  should  otherwise  have  done.  We  did  not.  however, 
forget  her.  We  made  provision  for  her  during  her  life.  But 
for  us  she  must  have  starved  or  earned  her  own  living." 

"  The  allowance  you  made  was  not  very  ample,"  replied 
Mr.  Home,  "  and  such  as  it  was  it  ceased  at  her  death." 

"Yes,  sir;  and  there  I  own  we — my  brother  and  I — were 
gutlty  of  an  cct  of  injustice.  I  can  only  exonerate  us  on  the 
plea  of  want  of  thought.  Our  father's  widow  was  a  young 
woman — yr linger  than  either  of  us.  The  child  was  but  a  baby. 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  i21 

The  widow's  death  seemed  a  very  far  off  contingent.  We 
placed  the  money,  we  had  agreed  to  allow  her  the  interest 
on,  in  the  hands  of  our  solicitor.  We  absolutely  forgot  the 
matter.  I  went  to  Australia,  my  brother  grew  old  at  home. 
When,  five  or  six  years  ago,  we  heard  that  Mrs.  Harman  was 
dead,  and  that  our  three  thousand  pounds  could  return  to  us, 
we  had  absolutely  forgotten  the  child.  In  this  I  own  we 
showed  sad  neglect.  Your  wife's  visit  to  my  niece,  through 
a  mere  accident,  has  recalled  her  to  our  memory,  and  I  come 
here  to-night  to  say  that  we  are  willing,  willing  and  anxious, 
to  repay  that  neglect,  and  to  settle  on  your  wife  the  sum  of 
three  thousand  pounds  ;  that  sum  to  be  hers  unconditionally, 
to  do  what  she  pleases  with." 

When  Jasper  ceased  to  speak,  Mr.  Home  was  quite  silent 
for  a  moment,  then  he  said,  "  My  wife  is  away  at  present. 
I  would  rather  not  trouble  her  with  money  matters  during 
her  short  holiday.  When  she  returns  I  will  tell  her  what 
you  say  and  communicate  to  you  the  result." 

There  was  neither  exultation  nor  annoyance  in  the  quiet 
manner  in  which  these  few  words  were  spoken.  Uncle  Jas 
per  found  it  impossible  to  understand  this  man.  He  spoke 
as  indifferently  as  if  three  thousand  pounds  were  nothing  to 
him  and  yet,  to  judge  from  appearances,  his  whole  yearly 
income  seemed  hardly  to  represent  the  interest  on  so  much 
capital.  i_j*tl  this  quiet  manner  but  hide  deep  designs  ? 
Jasper  Harman  fidgeted  in  his  chair  as  this  thought  occurred 
to  him. 

"  There  is  just  one  thing  more  to  add,"  he  said.  "  I  will 
leave  you  my  club  address.  Kindly  communicate  with  me  there 
I  should  like,  while  carrying  out  my  elder  brother's  wish,  to 
act  entirely  on  it  without  troubling  him  in  any  way.  He  is, 
I  am  sorry  to  say,  very  ill,  so  ill  that  the  least,  the  very  least, 
agitation  is  dangerous  to  him.  He  feels  with  me  the  unin 
tentional  injustice  done  to  your  wife,  but  he  cannot  bear  the 
subject  alluded  to. 

"  Would  it  not  rather,  be  an  ease  to  his  mind  to  feel  that 
what  he  looks  on  and  perhaps  dwells  on  as  a  sin  has  been 
expiated,  as  far  as  his  own  earthly  act  can  expiate  it  ?  "  in 
quired  the  clergyman  gently. 

"  He  shall  know  it,  but  from  my  lips.  I  should  like  him 
best  to  hear  it  from  me,"  said  Jasper  Harman. 

A  few  moments  after,  he  went  away,  Mr.  Home  accom 
panying  him  to  the  hall  door.  The  strong  light  of  the  gas 
lamp  fell  on  his  ruddy  face  and  sandy  hair.  He  bade  his 


122  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

host  good-bye,  and  hurried  down  the  street,  never  observing 
that  a  man,  much  larger  and  much  rougher  than  himself, 
was  bearing  down  upon  him.  It  was  raining,  and  the  large 
man  had  an  umbrella  up.  The  two  came  full  tilt  against 
each  other.  Jasper  felt  his  breath  taken  away,  and  could 
only  gasp  out  a  word  of  remonstrance  and  apology. 

"  But  the  other,  in  a  full,  round,  cheery  voice,  replied, 
"  I'm  home  from  the  Colonies,  stranger — you  need  not  men 
tion  a  tiff  like  that  to  me.  Bless  you  !  I  guess  you  got  the 
worst  of  it." 

He  passed  on  with  a  laugh,  never  noticing  that  he  had 
left  Jasper  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  gasping  in 
deed  now,  but  from  a  different  cause.  He  put  his  hand  to 
his  heart.  He  felt  his  breath  come  too  fast  for  comfort. 
What  had  come  to  him  ?  Had  he  seen  a  ghost  ? 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 
THE  CHILDREN'S  GREAT-UNCLE. 

IT  was  a  few  days  after  this  that,  the  morning  being  very 
bright  and  sunshiny,  the  little  maid  Anne,  determined  to 
give  Daisy  and  the  baby  a  long  morning  in  the  park.  Mrs 
Home  was  expected  back  in  a  few  days.  Harold  was  very 
much  better,  and  Anne,  being  a  faithful  and  loving  little  soul, 
was  extremely  anxious  that  Daisy  and  the  baby  should  show 
as  rosy  faces  as  possible  to  greet  their  mother's  return. 
Hinton,  who  still  occupied  the  drawing-rooms,  was  absent  as 
usual  for  the  day.  Mr.  Home  would  not  come  in  until  tea 
time.  So  Anne,  putting  some  dinner  for  the  children  and 
herself,  in  the  back  of  the  perambulator,  and  the  house  latch 
key  in  her  pocket,  started  off  to  have  what  she  called  to 
Daisy,  a  "  picnic  in  the  park." 

The  baby  was  now  nearly  ten  months  old.  His  beauty 
had  increased  with  his  growing  months,  and  many  people 
turned  to  look  at  the  lovely  little  fellow  as  Anne  gayly 
wheeled  him  along.  He  had  a  great  deal  of  hair,  which 
showed  in  soft  golden  rings  under  his  cap,  and  his  eyes, 
large  and  gentle  as  a  gazelle's,  looked  calmly  out  of  his  in 
nocent  face.  Daisy,  too,  was  quite  pretty  enough  to  come 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


123 


in  for  her  share  of  admiration,  and  Anne  felt  proud  of  both 
her  little  charges. 

Reaching  the  park,  she  wheeled  the  perambulator  under 
the  shade  of  a  great  tree,  and  sitting  down  herself  on  a  bench, 
took  little  Angus  in  her  arms.  Daisy  scampered  about  and 
inquired  when  her  namesakes,  the  starry  daisies  of  the  field, 
would  be  there  for  her  to  gather. 

As  the  little  child  played  and  shouted  with  delight,  and 
the  baby  and  small  maid  looked  on,  a  stout,  florid-faced  man 
of  foreign  appearance,  passing  slowly  by,  was  attacted  by  the 
picturesque  group.  Daisy  had  flung  off  her  shabby  little  hat. 
Her  bright  hair  was  in  wild  confusion.  Her  gray  eyes 
looked  black  beneath  their  dark  lashes.  Running  full  tilt 
across  the  stranger's  path,  she  suddenly  stumbled  and  fell. 
He  stooped  to  pick  her  up.  She  hardly  thanked  him,  but 
flew  back  to  Anne.  The  foreign-looking  man,  however, 
stood  still.  Daisy's  piquant  little  face  had  caused  him  to 
start  and  change  color. 

"  Good  gracious !  what  a  likeness,"  he  exclaimed,  and  he 
turned  and  sat  down  on  the  bench  beside  Anne  and  the 
baby. 

"  I  hope  the  little  thing  didn't  get  hurt  by  that  fall,"  he 
said  to  the  small  maid. 

Anne,  who  was  accustomed  to  having  all  admiration 
bestowed  on  her  baby,  replied  briefly  that  missy  was  right 
enough.  As  she  spoke  she  turned  baby  Angus  round  so 
that  the  stranger  might  see  his  radiant  little  face.  The  dark 
eyes,  however,  of  the  pretty  boy  had  no  attraction  for  the 
man.  He  still  watched  Daisy,  who  had  resumed  her  amuse 
ments  at  a  little  distance. 

Ahne,  who  perceived  that  Daisy  had  attracted  the 
stranger's  admiration,  was  determined  to  stav  to  watch  the 
play  out.  She  pretended  to  amuse  little  Angus,  but  her 
eyes  took  furtive  glances  at  the  foreign-looking  man.  Pres 
ently  Daisy,  who  was  not  at  all  shy,  came  up. 

"  You  never  thanked  me  for  picking  you  up  from  the 
ground,"  said  the  stranger  to  the  little  girl. 

Four  year  old  Daisy  turned  up  her  eyes  to  his  face. 

"  I  wor  so  busy,"  she  apologized.     "  T'ank  'ou  now." 

The  light  on  her  face,  her  very  expression,  caused  this 
rough-looking  man's  heart  to  beat  strangely.  He  held  out 
his  hand.  Daisy  put  her  soft  little  palm  into  his. 

"  Come  and  sit  on  my  knee,"  he  said. 

Daisy  accepted  the  invitation  with  alacrity.     She  dearly 


124  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

liked  attention,  and  it  was  not  often,  with  baby  by,  that  she 
came  in  for  the  lion's  share. 

"What  a  funny  red  beard  you  have  !  "  she  aaid,  putting 
up  a  small  finger  to  touch  it  delicately. 

This  action,  however,  scandalized  Anne,  who,  awaking  to 
a  sudden  sense  of  her  responsibilities,  rose  to  depart. 

"  Come  along,  Miss  Daisy,"  she  exclaimed ;  "  'tis  time 
we  was  a-moving  home,  and  you  mustn'  t  trouble  the  gentle 
man  no  further,  missy." 

"  I  s'ant  go  home,  and  I  will  stay,"  responded  Daisy,  her 
face  growing  very  red  as  she  clung  to  her  new  friend.  The 
man  put  his  arm  round  her  in  delight. 

"  Sit  down,  my  girl,"  he  said,  addressing  Anne,  "  the  little 
miss  is  not  troubling  me.  Quite  the  contrary,  she  reminds 
me  of  a  little  lassie  I  used  to  know  once,  and  she  had  the 
same  name  too,  Daisy.  Daisy  Wilson  was  her  name.  Now 
this  little  kid  is  so  like  her  that  I  shouldn't  a  bit  wonder  if 
she  was  a  relation — perhaps  her  daughter.  Shall  I  tell  you 
what  your  two  names  are,  little  one  ? " 

Daisy  nodded  her  head  and  looked  up  expectantly. 
Anne,  hoping  no  harm  was  done,  and  devoured  with  curiosity, 
resumed  her  seat. 

"  Your  mamma's  name  was  Daisy  Wilson.  You  are  her 
deaf  little  daughter,  and  your  name  is  Daisy  Harman.  Well, 
I'm  right,  ain't  I  ?  "  The  man's  face  was  now  crimson,  and 
he  only  waited  for  Daisy's  reply  to  clasp  her  to  his  breast. 
But  Daisy,  in  high  delight  at  his  mistake,  clapped  her  pretty 
hands. 

"No,  no,"  she  said,  "you're  quite  wrong.  Guess  again, 
guess  again." 

Instantly  his  interest  and  excitement  died  out.  He 
pushed  the  child  a  trifle  away,  and  said, — 

"  I  made  a  mistake.     I  can't  guess." 

"  I'm  Daisy  Home,"  replied  Daisy,  "  and  my  mamma 
was  never  no  Daisy  Wilson.  Her  name  is  Sarlotte  Home." 

The  stranger  put  Daisy  gently  from  his  lap,  and  the  dis 
covery  which  was  to  affect  so  many  people  might  never  have 
been  made  but  for  Anne,  who  read  the  Family  Heiald,  was 
burning  with  anxiety  and  wonder.  Many  kinds  of  visions 
were  flashing  before  her  romantic  young  eyes.  This  man 
might  be  very  rich — very,  very  rich.  He  must  have  some 
thing  to  say  to  them  all.  She  had  long  ago  identified  her 
self  with  the  Home  family.  This  man  was  coming  to  give 
them  gold  in  abundance.  He  was  not  so  beautiful  to  look 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  12$ 

at,  but  he  might  be  just  as  valuable  as  the  pretty  lady  of 
Harold's  dreams.  That  pretty  lady  had  not  come  back, 
though  Anne  had  almost  prayed  for  her  return.  Yes,  she 
was  sure  this  man  was  a  relation.  It  was  highly  probable. 
Such  things  were  always  happening  in  the  Family  Herald. 
Raising  her  shrill,  high-pitched  voice,  she  exclaimed, — 

"  Miss  Daisy,  you're  too  young  to  know,  or  may  be  you 
furgets.  But  I  think  the  gen'leman  is  near  right.  Yer 
mamma's  name  wos  Harman  afore  she  married  yer  papa, 
missy,  and  I  ha'  seen  fur  sure  and  certain  in  some  old  books 
at  the  house  the  name  o'  Daisy  Wilson  writ  down  as  plain 
as  could  be,  so  maybe  that  wor  yer  grandma's  name  afore 
she  married  too." 

All  these  words  the  stranger  caught  Daisy  up  and  kissed 
her. 

"  I  thought  that  little  face  could  only  belong  to  one 
related  to  Daisy  Wilson,"  he  said.  "Little  one,  put  yer 
arms  round  me.  I'm  your  great-uncle — your  great-uncle  !  I 
never  thought  that  Daisy  Wilson  could  have  a  daughter 
married,  and  that  that  daughter  could  have  little  ones  of  her 
own.  Well,  well,  well,  how  time  does  fly !  I'm  your  grand 
mother's  brother — Sandy  Wilson,  home  from  Australia,  my 
little  pet ;  and  when  shall  I  see  you  all  ?  It  does  my  old 
heart  good  to  see  my  sister  over  again  in  a  little  thing  like 
you." 

"  My  great-uncle  ?  "  repeated  Daisy.  She  was  an  affec 
tionate  little  thing,  and  the  man's  agitation  and  delight  so 
far  touched  her  baby  heart  as  to  induce  her  to  give  him  one 
very  slight,  dainty  kiss.  Then  she  sidled  down  to  the 
ground. 

"  Ef  you  please,  sir,"  said  Anne  again* who  felt  abso 
lutely  certain  that  she  had  now  made  the  fortune  of  her 
family,  and  who  thought  that  that  fact  ought  to  be  recog 
nised — "  ef  you  please,  sir,  'tis  but  right  as  you  should  know 
as  my  missis's  mother  have  long  bin  dead.  My  missis  as  is 
her  living  model  is  away,  and  won't  be  back  afore  Thursday. 
She's  down  by  the  seaside  wid  Master  Harold  wot'  ad  the 
scarlet  fever,  and  wor  like  to  die  ;  and  the  fam'ly  address, 
please  sir,  is  ID,  Tremins  Road,  Kentish  Town." 

At  the  news  of  his  sister's  death  so  curtly  announced  by 
Anne,  the  man's  rough,  weatherbeaten  face  grew  white.  He 
did  not  touch  Daisy  again,  or  even  look  at  little  Angus  ;  but 
going  up  to  Anne,  he  slipped  a  sovereign  into  her  hand. 

"  Take  those  children  safely  home  now,"  he  said ;  "  the 


I26  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND, 

day  is  turning  chilly,  and — and — thank  you  for  what  you  told 
me  of,  my  good  lass.  I'll  come  and  see  your  missis  on 
Thursday  night." 

Then,  without  another  word,  he  hurried  away. 

Quickly  this  big,  rough  man,  who  had  nearly  knocked 
down  Jasper  Harman  the  night  before,  hurried  through  the 
park.  The  exultation  had  died  out  of  his  face  ;  his  heart 
had  ceased  to  beat  wildly.  Little  Daisy's  pretty  figure  was  still 
before  his  eyes  ;  but,  weatherbeaten  and  lifebeaten  man  that 
he  was,  he  found  himself  looking  at  it  through  a  mist  of  tears. 
"  'Tis  a  bit  of  a  shock,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  I'll  take  it  quietly, 
of  course.  Sandy  Wilson  learned  long  ago  to  take  everything 
quietly ;  but  it's  a  rare  bit  of  a  shock.  I  never  guessed  as 
my  little  Daisy  would  die.  Five  and  twenty  years  since  we 
met,  and  all  that  time  I've  never  once  clasped  the  hand  of  a 
blood-relation — never  had  one  belonging  to  me.  I  thought 
I  was  coming  back  to  Daisy,  and  Daisy  has  died.  She  was 
very  young  to  die — quite  five  years  younger  than  me.  A 
pretty,  pretty  lass  ;  the  little  'un  is  her  image.  How  odd  I 
should  have  knocked  up  against  Daisy's  grandchild,  and 
should  find  her  out  by  the  likeness.  Well,  well,  I'll  call  at 
10,  Tremins  Road.  I'll  call,  of  course  ;  not  that  I  care 
much  now,  as  my  little  sister  Daisy  Wilson  is  dead." 

He  pressed  h's  hand  before  his  eyes  ;  they  felt  weak  and 
dim.  The  rough  man  had  got  a  considerable  shock  ;  he  did  not 
care  to  look  at  London  sights  again  to-day  ;  he  returned  to  the 
Commercial  Hotel  in  the  Strand,  where  for  the  present  he 
was  staying. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

CUT   OFF    WITH    A    SHILLING. 

NEVER  was  a  little  maid-of-all-work  more  excited  than 
Anne  on  the  night  on  which  her  mistress  was  expected  home 
from  Torquay.  A  secret — quite  a  great  secret — had  been 
burning  a  hole  in  her  heart  ever  since  Monday,  and  to-night 
she  expected  this  secret  to  result  in  something  grand.  Anne 
felt  that  the  days  of  poverty  for  the  family  were  over  ;  the 
days  for  scraping  and  toiling  were  at  an  end.  The  uncle 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


127 


from  Australia  would  give  her  missis  everything  that  money 
could  buy  ;  he  must  be  a  very  rich  man  indeed,  for  had  he 
not  given  her  a  sovereign  ?  Whoever  before  had  even 
dreamed  of  giving  little  hard-worked  Anne  a  sovereign  ?  It 
meant  unheard-of  wealth  to  this  childish  soul  of  sixteen  ;  it 
filled  her  with  delight,  and,  carefully  put  away  in  a  little 
gingham  bag,  it  lay  golden  and  warm  now  against  her  heart. 

But  Anne's  honest  little  heart  had  another  and  less  selfish 
cause  for  rejoicing.  It  was  she  who  was  bringing  this  uncle 
and  niece  to  meet  again  ;  but  for  her  prompt  interference 
Daisy  and  her  great-uncle  would  never  have  discovered  their 
relationship ;  but  for  her  the  uncle,  so  blessed  with  riches, 
would  not  have  known  where  to  seek  for  his  niece.  In  a 
big  place  like  London  was  it  likely,  was  it  at  all  likely,  that 
they  would  meet  ?  No,  no,  he  would  look  for  his  poor  dead 
sister  for  a  little  while,  and  then  go  back  to  Australia,  and 
perhaps  give  his  money  to  some  one  else.  Anne  felt  that 
the  family  owed  her  a  great  deal ;  but  she  had  full  confi 
dence  in  them,  and  felt  sure  that  in  their  rise  in  life  they 
would  not  forget  her.  Missis  could  keep  plenty  of  servants 
now  ;  she  would  have  a  cook  and  a  housemaid,  and  probably 
some  one  to  help  in  the  nursery.  This  was  what  a  family 
whom  Anne  thought  immensely  wealthy,  did  in  a  house 
just  round  the  corner.  In  that  case  she,  Anne,  would  be 
promoted  to  the  proud  position  of  head  nurse — head  nurse 
with  wages — well,  say  wages  as  high  as  ^13  a  year.  Even 
to  think  of  being  raised  to  so  dazzling  a  height  made  Anne's 
head  a  trifle  giddy.  On  the  strength  of  it,  and  all  the  riches 
in  prospect,  she  became  quite  reckless  in  preparing  missis's 
tea.  She  put  out  the  best  table-linen,  and  all  the  silver  the 
house  possessed,  and  she  filled  a  great  dish  with  water- 
cresses,  and  had  hot  buttered  scones  and  a  seed-cake  and 
eggs — rather  fresh  for  London — and  finally  half  a  pound  of 
sliced  ham. 

She  was  standing  contemplating  her  well-laden  board 
when  the  cdb  drove  up,  and  out  stepped  her  master  and 
mistress  and  little  Harold — Harold  looking  white  and  thin 
even  yet,  but  still  with  an  altogether  improved  expression  on 
his  little  face.  Anne  was  so  excited,  knowing  all  that  was 
to  come,  that  she  caught  Harold  up  in  her  arms  and  kissed 
him,  which  proceeding  he  bore  with  more  patience  than 
appreciation.  Then  ensued  bustle  and  confusion  ar.d  pleas 
ant  excitement.  Charlotte  Home  felt  so  well  and  rested 
from  her  change,  her  husband  was  so  delighted  to  have  her 


I2g  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

back,  and  little  Harold  was  so  manifestly  better,  that  Anne 
flew  about  nearly  wild  with  delight.  "They'll  be  a  deal, 
deal  'appier  by-and-by,  and  'tis  hall'long  of  HAnne,"  she 
kept  whispering  to  herself. 

And  now,  tea  being  over,  and  Harold  tucked  up  comfort 
ably  once  more  in  his  own  little  cot  in  the  nursery,  the  small 
maid  began  to  be  devoured  with  impatience  for  the  expected 
ring.  It  came  at  last ;  Anne  with  her  own  hands  unfastened 
the  door,  showed  the  rich  uncle  into  the  dining-room,  and 
danced  upstairs  to  find  her  mistress.  Charlotte  Home  was 
unpacking  a  trunk  in  her  own  room. 

"  What  do  you  say,  Anne  ?  A  gentleman  is  downstairs, 
and  wants  to  see  me  ?  But  I  am  so  dreadfully  busy.  What 
does  he  want  ?  Do  you  think  he  has  come  about  the 
drawing-rooms  ?  They  will  be  vacant  next  week." 

"  I  don't  think  'tis  about  the  drawing-rooms,  'em," 
answered  Anne  as  demurely  as  she  could  speak.  "  I  'avent 
put  no  card  hup  yet.  Please,  'em,  he  looks  a  most  benevo 
lent  gen'leman,  and  he  axed  fur  you.  yer  hown  s.elf,  'em, 
most  partic'lar  bad." 

"  I  wish  he  had  not  come  this  evening,  everything  is  in 
such  confusion.  Anne,  are  you  sure  your  master  is  out  ? " 

"  Yes,  'em,  sure  and  certain  ;  and  ef  you  please,  'em,  it 
wor  fur  you  as  the  strange  gen'leman  axed." 

"Well,  I  suppose  I  must  go  clown.  He  may  have  heard 
of  the  drawing-rooms  through  Mr.  Hinton,  and  it  would  not 
do  to  lose  a  good  lodger." 

Charlotte  went  to  the  looking-glass  to  smooth  her  hair. 
She  felt  travelled-stained  and  dusty ;  she  was  only  a  worn, 
pale-looking  woman  at  the  best  of  times.  She  ran  down 
stairs,  and  Anne's  heart  beat  as  she  heard  the  dining-room 
door  shut  behind  her. 

Mr.  Wilson — Sandy  Wilson  as  he  preferred  to  be  called — 
had  got  himself  up  with  due  care  for  his  interview  with  his 
niece.  He  had  a  perfectly  new  and  shining  broadcloth  suit 
on,  a  diamond  pin  was  in  his  necktie,  and  a  very  massive 
gold  chain  could  be  seen  dangling  from  his  vest  pocket.  His 
full  face,  always  florid,  was  now  flushed  with  extra  color  from 
agitation.  Yes,  Daisy  might  be  dead,  but  the  next  best 
thing  was  to  see  Daisy's  child.  When  the  door  opened  he 
came  forward  eagerly,  with  outstretched  hands.  A  pale, 
slight,  cold-looking  woman  had  come  in.  He  drew  back  in 
dismay.  She  showed  but  too  plainly  by  one  swift  glance 
that  she  thought  him  a  stranger,  and  a  vulgar  one.  He 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


129 


owned  to  himself  that  he  looked  at  her  with  a  kind  of  shock. 
This  Daisy  Wilson's  Daughter  ?  This  pale,  dark,  thin 
woman  the  child  of  that  little,  bright,  curly-locked,  golden- 
headed  sister,  whose  face  was  as  the  sun,  whose  gay,  rounded 
figure -he  had  seen  flitting  before  his  eyes  during  all  the 
weary  years  of  his  exile  ?  It  could  scarcely  be  possible. 
Perhaps  it  was  not  possible  ? 

"I  have  come  to  see  Mrs.  Home,"  he  began. 

"  And  I  am  Mrs.  Home,"  answered  the  distinct,  quiet 
voice. 

No,  there  was  no  hope  ;  his  Daisy's  daughter  was  not  in 
the  least  like  her.  Well,  she  was  at  least  her  child.  He 
must  take  what  comfort  he  could  out  of  the  relationship 
without  the  likeness. 

"  You  are  Daisy's  Wilson's  child  ? "  he  said,  and  now 
again  his  hands  were  outstretched,  and  the  smiles  had 
returned  to  his  face." 

But  Mrs.  Home,  completely  in  the  dark,  rather  startled 
than  otherwise,  made  no  gesture  of  welcome.  Her  hands 
were  not  held  out,  her  lips  remained  unsmiling. 

"  My  mother's  name  was  Wilson,"  she  admitted.  "  Yes, 
it  was  Daisy  Wilson.  I  did  not  recognize  it  at  first,  as  of  course 
she  was  never  called  it  to  me." 

"  Ay,  ay,  likely  enough  ;  but  she  was  never  anything  else 
to  me,  just  always  little  bright  Daisy  Wilson.  I  thought  I'd 
find  her  before  me,  something  as  she  used  to  be,  a  bit  stout 
ened,  perhaps,  but  not  greatly  altered.  I  have  pictured  her 
for  the  last  six  and  twenty  years  just  as  I  saw  her  last  the 
bonniest  bit  of  a  thing  the  sun  ever  shone  on." 

"  You  knew  my  mother  then  ?  "  said  Charlotte. 

"  Knew  her,  lass,  knew  her  !  good  heavens,  what  next  f 
Did  Daisy  never  speak  to  you  about  me  ?  I  don't  believe 
it.  Before  I  left  it  was  "  Sandy,  Sandy,'  from  morning  to 
night.  It  was  not  in  her  to  forget.  Tell  me,  lass,  did  you 
never  hear  of  your  mother's  big  brother,  Sandy  Wilson  who 
went  to  Australia  ?  " 

Charlotte's  eyes  began  to  dilate. 

"  My  mother  often  spoke  of  this  brother,"  she  said  slowly. 
"  My  mother  would  have  liked  to  have  met  you,  had  you 
known  him.  She  never  fretted  for  any  one  so  much,  except 
when  my  father  died.  My  mother's  brother  is  dead  for  many, 
many  years.  They  are  together  now." 

"  In  spirit,  lass,  in  spirit,  I  doubt  not,  but  not  otherwise. 
Why,  is  it  possible  you  don't  know  me  ?  Aren't  you  pre- 


130  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

pared  ?  Did  not  your  little  lass  tell  you  ?  I  am  youi 
mother's  brother,  I  am  alive,  as  you  see ;  I  am  Sandy 
Wilson." 

';  You  ! "  Charlotte  looked  at  him  half  incredulous,  half 
pained ;  but  then  a  sudden  joy  came  over  her,  she  forgot  the 
vulgarity  in  the  love  for  her  dead  mother  which  still  shone 
out  of  those  honest  blue  eyes.  She  glanced  up  again  ;  those 
eyes  were  her  mother's  eyes ;  instantly  they  acted  as  open 
sesame  to  her  heart.  She  held  out  her  own  hands  now  and 
her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  "  Forgive  me,  Uncle  Sandy  ;  if 
you  are  indeed  he.  I  did  not  know  you,  I  could  not  know 
you ;  I  have  believed  you  dead  for  many,  many  years.  But 
you  have  a  look  of  my  mother.  She  would  welcome  you  to 
night,  so  I  must  in  her  name." 

"  Will  you  kiss  me  in  her  name,  my  lassie  ?  Ah  !  that's 
good  ;  'tis  long  since  I  kissed  one  of  my  own.  Yes,  I've 
come  back.  I  never  did  die,  you  see,  though  I  knew  that  the 
report  had  reached  England.  I  let  it  be,  I  did  not  trouble 
to  contradict  it." 

"  But  it  was  wrong  of  you,  Uncle  Sandy.  You  said  you 
loved  my  mother,  and  that  report  of  your  death  gave  her 
terrible  pain." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  it,  lass  ;  I  never  guessed  about  the  pain, 
though  I  might  have  thought  of  it,  sweet  soul ;  but  I  knew 
she  was  married  to  a  very  rich  man.  I  was  poor,  so  poor  as 
to  know  what  hunger  meant,  I  thought  she  could  do  without 
me.  I  went  up  into  the  bush  and  stayed  there  until  I  had 
made  my  fortune.  After  a  time  I  got  accustomed  to  know 
ing  that  every  one  in  England  would  think  me  dead.  I  used 
to  laugh  in  my  sleeve  at  the  surprise  I  meant  to  give  Daisy 
when  I  walked  in  rich  some  day.  Well,  well,  what  an  old 
fool  I  made  Of  myself !  I  never  once  thought  of  her  dying. 
She  is  dead,  and  I  am  left ;  there's  no  one  to  welcome  me 
back,  after  all." 

"  She  has  been  dead  for  over  six  years  now  ;  but  come  to 
the  fire,  uncle.  I  welcome  you  in  my  mother's  name,  and 
my  children  will  love  you.  Now  you  must  sit  there  and  I 
will  ring  for  Anne  to  bring  in  some  tea." 

After  this  the  uncle  and  niece  talked  together  for  some 
time.  Anne  brought  in  the  tea,  and  looked  at  them  with 
eyes  rendered  round  and  large  from  excitement.  They  both 
nodded  to  her,  for  both  felt  pleased.  Uncle  Sandy  had 
discovered  that  his  niece  had  a  voice  like  her  mother,  if  not 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  13! 

a  face.  It  was  delicious  to  him  to  sit  so  close  to  his  own 
flesh  and  blood,  and  Charlotte,  who  had  heard  of  Uncle 
Sandy  during  all  her  early  days,  who  had  seen  her  mother's 
eyes  filling  with  tears  when  she  mentioned  him,  felt  now  that 
for  her  mother's  sake  she  could  not  make  enough  of  this 
newly  recovered  relation.  His  rough,  honest,  kindly  nature 
was  finding  its  way  too,  very  straight,  to  her  heart.  There 
was  nothing  innately  common  or  vulgar  about  Uncle  Sandy. 
Charlotte  was  a  keen  observer  of  character,  and  she  detected 
the  ring  of  the  true  metal  within. 

"  To  think  I  should  have  mistaken  my  uncle  for  some 
one  going  to  see  after  the  drawing-rooms !  "  she  said  after  a 
pause. 

"  Ay,  lass,  you  looked  fairly  dazed  when  I  came  up  with 
my  hand  stretched  out,  hoping  for  a  kiss,"  he  sai4  ;  "  but  no 
wonder :  I  never  reckoned  that  that  little  maid-servant  of 
yours  would  have  told  you  nothing — nothing  whatever.  But 
what  is  that  about  drawing-rooms  ?  You  don't  mean  to  tell 
me  that  you,  Daisy  Wilson's  child,  let  lodgings  ?  " 

The  color  flew  into  Charlotte's  pale,  proud  face. 

"  We  do  not  need  all  the  room  in  this  house,  so  I  generally 
have  some  one  in  the  drawing-room,"  she  answered — "  the 
drawing-room  and  the  bedroom  beyond. 

"  Are  your  rooms  free  now,  Charlotte  ?  " 

"  No  ;  but  in  a  week  they  will  be." 

"  Suppose  you  let  the  old  uncle  have  them  ?  I  will  pay 
any  rent  you  like  to  ask.  The  fact  is,  I  have  lost  my  whole 
heart  to  that  little  Daisy  of  yours.  I  want  to  be  near  the 
child.  I  won't  spoil  her  more  than  I  can  help." 

"  Then  I  was  called  down  to  my  drawing-room  lodger," 
answered  Charlotte  with  a  faint  sweet  smile. 

"  Yes,  and  I  don't  expect  he  will  want  to  leave  in  a  hurry. 
The  fact  is  I  have  been  so  utterly  friendless  and  homeless 
for  such  a  number  of  years,  that  it  is  nearly  as  good  as  finding 
Daisy  to  be  with  her  child.  But,  my  dear  lass,  you  will  for 
give  a  frank  old  man  asking  you  a  frank  question.  It's  al! 
moonshine  about  the  house  being  too  big  for  you.  These 
houses  are  not  so  very  monstrous,  to  judge  by  the  looks  of 
them.  You  have  three  children,  so  you  tell  me  ;  if  you  let 
two  rooms  you  must  be  a  bit  crippled,  put  as  good  a  face  on 
it  as  you  will." 

"  We  also  want  the  money.  The  want  of  the  help  this 
brings  in,  in  the  matter  of  rent,  is  our  true  reason  for  letting," 
replied  Charlotte.  "  You  see,  Uncle  Sandy,  my  husband  is 


132 


HO IV  fT  ALL  CAME  KOUXD. 


a  clergyman — a  clergyman  and  curate.  Such  men  are  never 
over-burdened  with  money." 

Sandy  Wilson  had  small,  penetrating,  but  very  bright 
blue  eyes ;  they  were  fixed  now  earnestly  on  his  niece.  He 
took  a  glance  round  the  little  parlor  where  they  sat.  He  was 
an  old  Australian,  accustomed  to  bush  life,  but  even  he 
noticed  how  threadbare  was  the  carpet,  how  poor  and  meagre 
the  window  curtains.  Charlotte  herself,  too,  how  thin  and 
worn  she  was !  Could  those  pale  and  hollow  cheeks  mean 
insufficient  food  ? 

"  How  old  are  you,  niece  Charlotte  ? "  he  suddenly  de 
manded. 

"  I  was  twenty-five  my  last  birthday." 

"  Forgive  me,  my  lass,  you  look  very  old  for  that ;  I 
should  have  taken  you  for  thirty.  The  fact  is  you  are  poor, 
nothing  ages  like  poverty.  And  the  greater  fact  remains 
that  it  was  full  time  for  old  Uncle  Sandy  to  come  home  and 
prove  himself  of  some  use  in  the  world." 

"  We  are  poor,"  answered  Charlotte  ;  "  we  certainly  are 
very  poor.  But  poverty  is  not  the  greatest  of  troubles." 

"  No,  but  it  puzzles  me  why  you  should  be  poor.  When 
I  left  my  little  sister,  she  had  been  married  about  three 
months  to  that  rich  old  Mr.  Harman.  He  seemed  devoted 
to  her.  He  had  surrounded  her  with  wealth;  and  he  assured 
me  when  I  came  to  bid  her  good-bye,  and  she  put  her  dear 
arms  round  my  neck,  that  my  little  darling  should  never 
want  for  anything.  He  was  a  good  old  man,  ages  too  old  of 
course  for  my  bright  little  Daisy.  But  it  seemed  better  than 
leaving  her  as  a  governess.  It  was  my  one  comfort  when 
parting  with  Daisy,  to  feel  that  she  could  never  want  for 
anything  that  money  could  get  her." 

"  My  mother  has  told  me  that  during  my  father's  life  she 
lived  as  a  rich  woman,"  answered  Charlotte. 

"That  means  she  did  not  afterwards.  Did  the  old  gentle 
man  die  bankrupt  ?  I  don't  see  how  he  could,  for  he  had 
retired  from  business." 

"  No,  my  father  died  a  very  wealthy  man." 

"Then  he  did  not  leave  her  well  off!  You  don't  surely 
mean  to  tell  me,  Charlotte  Home,  that  that  old  man  dared  to 
do  anything  but  leave  a  large  sum  of  money  to  your  pretty 
young  mother  and  to  you  ?  Why,  he  told  me  with  his  own 
lips  that  he  would  make  most  ample  provision  for  her." 

At  these  words  Charlotte's  white  face  grew  yet  whiter, 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  ^^ 

and  a  piteous  look  of  terror  came  into  her  eyes,  but  all  she 
said  was, — 

"  Nevertheless,  after  my  father's  death  we  were  poor." 

"  Oh  !  the  scoundrel !  'Tis  well  he's  out  of  Sandy  Wilson's 
power.  To  think  of  my  Daisy  not  profiting  by  his  wealth  at 
least.  How  much  did  he  leave  to  your  mother,  Charlotte  ? 

"  Nothing." 

"  Nothing  !  "  Here  Uncle  Sandy  sprang  to  his  feet.  "  Mr. 
Harman  left  my  Daisy  no'thing — nothing  whatever  !  Then  he 
did  die  bankrupt  ? 

"  No,  Uncle  Sandy,  he  died  rich." 

"  And  her  name  was  not  mentioned  in  the  will  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Ah  !  there  was  a  will.     Have  you  seen  it  ? " 

"  No  ;  why  should  I  ?     It  all  happened  long,  long  ago." 

"  And  your  mother  never  saw  the  will  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  she  did." 

"  Then  to  whom,  may  I  ask,  did  he  leave  all  his  wealth  ?" 

"  You  forget,  Uncle  Sandy,  that  my  father  was  married 
before.  He  had  two  sons  by  his  first  marriage.  These  sons 
came  in  for  his  fortune.  They  were — they  said  they  were, 
sorry  for  my  mother,  and  they  settled  on  her  one  hundred 
and  fifty  pounds  a  year  for  her  life." 

"  Ay,  I  suppose  you  have  got  that  pittance  now  ?  " 

"  No,  it  was  only  for  my  mother.  When  she  died  six 
years  ago  it  ceased." 

Sandy  Wilson  began  to  pace  up  and  down  the  little 
parlor. 

"  Nothing  left  to  Daisy.  Daisy's  name  not  mentioned  in 
the  will.  Brothers  sorry — pretend  to  be.  Give  my  Daisy  a 
pittance  for  her  life — nothing  to  the  child.  Charlotte,"  he 
suddenly  stopped  in  front  of  his  niece,  "  don't  you  think  you 
are  a  good  bit  of  a  fool  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  I  am,  Uncle  Sandy.  But  I  never  recognized 
the  fact  before." 

"  You  believe  that  story  about  the  will  ? " 

"  I  tell  you  the  tale  as  my  own  mother  told  it  to  me." 

"  Ay,  Daisy  was  always  too  credulous,  a  foolish  little  thing, 
if  you  like.  But  you — you  are  of  different  metal.  You  believe 
that  story  ? " 

"  I— I — —     Don't  ask  me,  Uncle  Sandy." 

"  You  do  not  believe  it  ? " 

"  If  you  will  have  it  so,  I  do  not  believe  it." 

"  Ay,  my  lass,  shake  hands  on  that.     You  are  not  a  fool, 


'34 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


Oh  !  it  was  full  time  Sandy  Wilson  came  home.     Sandy  can 
see  to  your  rights,  late  as  it  is  in  the  day." 

Mrs.  Home  was  silent.  The  old  Australian  was  stamping 
his  feet  on  the  hearthrug.  His  face  was  now  crimson  from 
excitement  and  anger. 

"  Charlotte,"  he  repeated,  "  why  don't  you  speak  to  me  ? 
I  have  come  back  to  see  to  your  rights.  Do  you  hear  me, 
niece  ? " 

Charlotte  put  her  hand  into  his. 

"  Thank  you,  Uncle  Sandy."  Then  she  added,  "  You  can 
do  nothing.  I  mean  you  can  take  no  legal  steps  without  my 
knowledge  and  sanction." 

"  Well,  it  is  not  likely  you  will  withhold  your  sanction 
from  getting  back  what  is  your  own.  Charlotte,  where  aro 
these  half-brothers  of  yours  ?  Why,  they  were  a  good  bit 
older  than  Daisy.  They  must  be  old  men  now.  Where  are 
they,  Charlotte  ?  Are  they  alive  ?  " 

*'  They  are  alive.  I  will  tell  you  about  them  to-morrow. 
I  want  to  think  to-night." 

"  And  so  do  I  want  to  think.  I  will  run  away  now,  my 
dear  niece.  I  am  staggered  by  this  tale,  perfectly  staggered. 
I  will  look  in  to-morrow  evening,  and  you  shall  tell  me  more. 
Ay,  I  guess  they  never  reckoned  that  Sandy  Wilson  would 
turn  up.  They  thought  with  the  rest  of  you  that  old  Sandy 
— sharp  old  Sandy  was  safe  in  his  grave,  and  they  said  to 
themselves  that  dead  men  tell  no  tales.  If  I  remember 
aright,  your  father  told  me  I  should  be  one  of  the  trustees  to 
my  sister.  He  did  mention  it ;  though,  just  like  me,  I  never 
thought  of  it  until  this  minute.  Is  it  likely  that  he  would 
speak  of  trustees  if  he  meant  to  cut  off  that  poor  darling 
with  a  shilling  ?  Oh  !  it's  preposterous,  preposterous.  But 
I'll  sleep  over  it.  We'll  think  how  best  to  expose  the 
villains  ! " 

"  Uncle  Sandy,  you  will  promise  me  one  thing :  you  will 
do  nothing  until  you  see  me  again  ?  " 

"  Well,  child,  I  can  scarcely  do  much.  I  don't  want  to 
be  long  away  from  you,  niece  Charlotte.  I'll  look  in  to 
morrow,  about  six  o'clock.  See  that  little  Daisy  is  up,  and 
introduce  me  to  your  husband.  Oh !  it  was  plain  to  be  seen 
that  Sandy  Wilson  was  wanting  in  this  country.  Bless  my 
old  heart,  what  a  Providence  is  over  everything !  Oh,  the 
scoundrels  !  But  Sandy  will  expose  them.  My  Daisy  cut 
off  with  a  shilling !  " 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  RQUNB. 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 
"SOMETHING  BETTER  FOR  THE  CHILDREN  THAN  MONEY." 

AFTER  her  newly  found  uncle  had  left  her,  Charlotte 
Home  sat  on  by  the  fire  ;  her  face  was  very  pale ;  she  looked 
a  quite  broken-down  and  troubled  woman.  Little  Anne,  al 
most  on  tiptoe,  crept  into  the  room.  She  was  all  quivering 
with  excitement.  She  expected  her  mistress  to  turn  to  her 
— almost  to  fling  her  arms  around  her  neck — to  thank  her 
with  the  warmest  expressions  for  what  she  had  done. 

"  Anne,"  rehearsed  the  little  maid,  imagining  Charlotte's 
words,  "  you  have  saved  us  all ;  you  are  our  lifelong  bene 
factor.  Henceforth  partake  of  our  wealth.  Be  not  only  our 
servant,  but  our  friend." 

This  was  how  matters  would  have  been  managed  in  the 
Family  Herald.  Anne  raised  expectant  eyes  to  her  mistress's 
face,  but  one  glance  at  it  scattered  her  golden  visions.  She 
softly  lifted  up  the  teatray  and  withdrew.  Her  faith  and 
hope  had  gone  down  to  zero.  She  was  a  very  dispirited 
little  girl  as  she  returned  to  her  kitchen.  That  uncle  from 
Australia  was  not  a  'rich  uncle.  Missis  would  never  look 
so  miserable  if  he  was  rich.  As  a  poor  relation  he  was  no 
use  whatever ;  and  Anne  had  done  nothing  for  the  family 
she  loved.  Oh,  how  very  disappointing  life  was  after  all ! 

Meanwhile  what  now  troubled  Charlotte  Home  had  very 
little  to  do  with  Uncle  Sandy's  possible  gold.  She  was  solv 
ing  another  problem,  and  the  task  was  a  difficult  one. 

For  the  past  month  Charlotte  had  been  making  up  her 
mind  to  a  certain  line  of  action.  Before  she  left  Torquay 
her  resolution  was  formed.  She  had  been  over  four  weeks 
there,  and  during  those  four  weeks  she  and  her  boy  had 
lived  on  Charlotte  Harman's  money.  That  money  had  saved 
the  life  of  her  child.  When  she  first  saw  it  and  thanked  for  it, 
and  each  succeeding  day,  each  succeeding  hour,  as  she  saw 
the  color  which  was  health,  and  the  appetite  which  was  life, 
returning  to  her  darling,  the  conviction  was  growing  upon 
her,  that  her  hand  could  never  inflict  a  blow  upon  the  woman 
who  had  done  so  much  for  her.  Her  children  wanted 


136  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

money,  and  her  husband  wanted  money,  and  she  herself 
too  !  A  little  dip  into  this  world's  softnesses,  she  owned, 
would  be  very  pleasant ;  but,  for  all  that,  her  hand  must  be 
still ;  her  lips  could  not  speak  to  cause  pain  and  agony  to 
one  who  had  done  so  much  for  her.  Miss  Harman  was  go 
ing  to  be  married.  Was  it  possible  that  on  the  eve  of  her 
marriage  she,  Charlotte  Home,  could  deal  to  her  so  cruel  a 
blow  ?  No,  it  was  not  possible.  For  Charlotte's  sake,  her 
father  and  uncle  might  keep  their  ill-gotten  wealth.  Mrs. 
Home  believed  more  and  more  firmly  that  she  and  hers 
were  robbed  of  their  money.  But  now  she  could  do  nothing. 
She  had  been  so  treated  by  her  enemy's  daughter  that  to 
appear  against  that  daughter's  father  would  be  impossible. 
As  this  conviction  came  to  her,  and  she  resolved  to  act  upon 
it,  and  to  let  all  chance  of  recovering  her  lost  wealth  go,  a 
wonderful  peace  and  calm  stole  over  her.  She  almost  used 
to  fancy  she  heard  the  voice  of  God  saying  to  her, — 

"  I  will  provide  for  your  children,  I  can  give  them  riches. 
There  are  better  things  to  be  won  for  those  little  ones  than 
what  money  can  give.  There  is  such  a  thing  as  a  heavy 
purse  and  a  poor  and  empty  heart.  Suppose  I  fill  those 
hearts  wkh  goodness,  and  greatness,  and  generosity,  and 
love  ;  is  not  that  a  better  portion  for  these  creatures  who  are 
to  live  for  all  eternity  than  the  gold  which  lasts  only  for  a 
time  ? " 

Yes,  Charlotte  felt  that  it  was  a  better  portion.  And 
such  peace  and  contentment  came  to  this  woman  during  the 
last  week  at  Torquay  that  she  thought  it  the  happiest  week  of 
her  whole  life.  But  now — now  she  sat  by  her  own  hearth  in 
troubled  maze.  She  had  come  back  to  find  her  resolve  sorely 
shaken.  With  no  one  to  help  her,  she  had  resolved  to  let  her 
chance  of  riches  go.  She  came  back  to  find  an  unexpected 
deliverer  come  to  her.  A  strong,  brave,  practical  man  had  ap 
peared.  This  man  was  her  own  uncle — her  beloved  mother's 
brother.  He  knew  how  to  act.  While  she  alone  must  stumble 
in  the  dark,  he  would  know  what  to  do.  He  would — he  could 
get  her  back  her  own.  It  seemed  hard  to  reject  such  help  ; 
and  yet  her  resolve  was  scarcely  shaken,  and  the  temptation, 
though  severe,  was  not  allowed  to  prevail.  The  voice  of 
God  was  still  talking  to  the  woman,  and  she  was  not  turn 
ing  from  Him. 

Since  the  life  of  her  child  had  been  given  back  to  her,  a 
great  softness  and  sweetness  had  come  to  Mrs.  Home  ;  she 
had  tasted  of  a  mother's  bitterest  cup,  but  God  had  not 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


'37 


asked  her  to  drink  it  to  the  dregs.  Her  dark  eyes,  always 
beautiful,  had  now  grown  very  lovely,  being  filled  with  a 
tenderness  which  not  only  took  in  her  own  child,  but,  for  his 
sake,  all  the  other  children  in  the  world. 

Yes,  Charlotte  loved  God  as  she  had  never  loved  Him 
before,  and  it  was  becoming  impossible  for  her  to  do  that 
which  might  pain  Him.  After  a  time  her  husband  came  in, 
and  the  two  sat  and  talked  for  some  time.  They  had  a  great 
deal  to  say,  and  the  hours  flew  on  as  each  poured  out  a  full 
heart  to  the  other. 

After  a  time  Charlotte  told  of  her  visit  from  the  uncle 
whom  she  had  supposed  for  so  many  years  to  be  dead.  Mr. 
Home  was  interested,  and  asked  many  questions.  Charlotte 
repeated,  almost  word  for  word,  what  Uncle  Sandy  had  said. 
Her  husband  regarded  her  attentively.  After  a  time  he 
spoke. 

"  Lottie,  you  remember  when  first  you  told  me  that  queer 
story  about  your  father's  will  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said. 

"  I  own  I  did  not  believe  it  ;  I  own  I  thought  very  little 
about  it.  I  ask  your  pardon,  my  dear.  I  now  believe  you 
are  right." 

"  Oh,  Angus  !  "  a  great  flood  of  color  came  up  to  her 
face.  "Oh  !  why,"  she  added  in  a  voice  of  pain,  "why  do 
you  say  this  to  me  now  ?  " 

"  Partly  from  what  your  uncle  said  to-night  ;  partly  for 
another  reason.  The  fact  is,  my  dear  wife,  while  you  were 
away  I  had  a  visit  from  your  half-brother,  Mr.  Jasper  Har- 


"  Angus  !  " 

"  Yes,  he  came  here  one  evening.  He  told  a  tale,  and 
he  made  a  proposition.  His  tale  was  a  lame  one  ;  his 
proposition  scarcely  came  well  from  his  lips.  He  evidently 
thought  of  me  as  of  one  unworldly  and  unpractical.  I  be 
lieve  I  am  unpractical,  but  he  never  guessed  that  in  my 
capacity  as  clergyman  I  have  had  much  to  do  with  sinners. 
This  man  has  a  conscience  by  no  means  void  of  offence.  He 
is  hardened.  Charlotte,  when  I  saw  him^  I  instantly  believed 
your  story." 

Mr.  Home  then  told  his  wife  the  whole  of  his  interview 
with  Jasper  Harman,  and  the  proposal  he  had  made  to 
•settle  on  Charlotte  and  on  her  children  the  three  thousand 
pounds  which  had  been  her  mother's  for  that  mother's  life 
time. 


I38  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

"I  gave  him  no  answer,  my  Lottie,"  he  said  in  conclu 
sion.  "  I  told  him  you  were  away — that  I  would  tell  you  all 
on  your  return." 

"  Then  the  decision  is  to  rest  with  me,  Angus  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  think  it  must." 

"  You  do  not  mind  whether  I  decline  or  accept  ?  " 

"  I  trust  you  absolutely.  You  shall  do  as  you  think 
best." 

After  this  Mrs.  Home  was  silent  for  a  moment  or  two  ; 
then  she  got  up,  went  on  her  knees  by  her  husband's  side, 
and  laying  her  head  against  his  breast,  said, — 

"  We  will  be  poor,  my  darling — poor  and  blessed.  I  will 
not  touch  their  gold." 

"  My  Lottie  !  "  he  answered.  He  did  not  quite  understand 
her,  but  his  heart  began  to  beat. 

"  I  will  tell  you  all  in  a  few  words,  Angus.  I  longed  for 
money — be  my  reason  base  or  noble,  I  longed  for  money.  A 
month  ago  how  sorely  we  needed  it  !  God  saw  our  need  and 
sent  it  to  us.  He  sent  it  through  a  channel  and  by  a  means 
which  tried  my  proud  heart.  I  accepted  the  gracious  boon, 
and,  when  I  accepted  it,  instantly  I  loved  the  giver ;  I  loved 
— I  love  Charlotte  Harman.  She  is  innocent  of  all  wrong. 
Angus,  I  cannot  disturb  her  peace.  My  uncle  has  come 
home.  My  uncle,  with  his  knowledge  and  his  worldly  skill, 
could  now  win  my  cause  for  me,  and  get  back  for  me  and 
mine  what  is  ours.  I  will  not  let  him.  These  old 
men  may  keep  their  ill-gotten  wealth,  for  I  cannct 
break  the  daughter's  heart.  I  made  my  resolve  at  Tor 
quay,  Angus ;  and,  though  I  own  I  have  been  tempted  to 
night — yes,  I  believe  I  have  been  tempted — still  I  must  let 
this  money  go.  I  will  leave  those  wicked  men  to  God ;  but 
I  cannot^take  their  punishment  into  my  own  hands.  And, 
Angus,  dearest,  neither  can  I  take  that  small  sum  of  money ; 
for,  though  I  can-not  prosecute,  neither  can  I  accept  a  bribe. 
This  money  comes  as  a  bribe.  Is  it  not  so  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Lottie,  I  fear  it  is  so." 

"  I  am  right  not  to  take  it  ?  " 

"  You  are  absolutely  right." 

*'  Then  we  will  not  touch  it.  I  and  mine  can  live  with 
out  it." 

"  You  and  yours  can  live  well  and  nobly  without  it,  my 
most  precious  wife." 

"  Ah  !  there  is  rest  and  peace  in  my  heart  •  and  the  little 


- 
HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  I39 

house,  though  so  poor  and  shabby,  seems  very  home-like. 
Angus,  I  am  so  tired  after  all  this !     I  will  go  to  bed." 

Long  after  his  wife  had  left  him,  the  husband  remained 
up.  He  had  gone  down  on  his  knees,  and  he  remained 
there  for  some  hours.  He  had  to  thank  God  for  his  Char- 
lotte,  but  even  while  he  thanked  a  weight  was  heavy  on  his 
heart.  Sin  was  very  terrible  to  this  man,  and  he  feared  that 
a  very  grievous  sin  had  been  committed.  Long,  long,  into 
the  night  he  cried  to  God  for  these  sinners. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

SHE  COULD  NOT   POSTPONE   HER   ENGAGEMENT. 

MR.  HARMAN  felt  himself  growing  weaker  and  weaker. 
The  disease  which  was  to  lay  him  in  his  grave  was  making 
slow,  but  steady  progress.  It  was  just  possible  that,  had  his 
mind  been  at  rest,  the  weakness  of  body,  the  pain  of  body, 
the  slow  decay  might  have  been,  not  removed,  but  at  least 
arrested.  Had  Mr.  Harman  been  a  very  happy  man,  he 
might  have  lived,  even  with  so  fatal  a  malady,  for  many 
years.  He  had  lived  a  life  of  almost  perfect  physical  health 
for  over  sixty  years,  and  during  all  that  time  he  had  been 
able  to  keep  mental  pains  at  bay  ;  but  in  his  present  weak 
ness  he  found  this  impossible.  His  whole  nervous  system 
became  affected,  and  it  was  apparent  even  to  his  daughter's 
eyes,  that  he  was  a  very  unhappy  man.  For  her  sake,  how 
ever,  he  still  did  wonders.  He  dragged  himself  up  to  break 
fast  morning  after  morning,  when  he  would  have  given  worlds 
to  remain  in  bed.  He  still  went  every  day  to  his  office  in 
the  city,  though,  when  there,  he  sat  in  his  office  chair  dull 
and  unmindful  of  what  was  going  on.  Jasper  did  the  work. 
Jasper  was  here,  there,  and  everywhere  ;  but  it  had  come  to 
such  a  pass  with  John  Harman,  that  he  now  almost  disliked 
gold.  Still,  for  Charlotte's  sake,  he  went  there.  Charlotte 
on  the  verge  of  her  marriage  must  suspect  nothing.  In 
the  evenings  he  sat  with  his  daughter,  he  looked  with  appar 
ent  interest  at  the  many  presents  which  came  pouring  in,  he 
made  her  show  herself  to  him  in  each  of  the  new  dresses, 
and  he  even  went  himself  with  her  to  choose  her  wedding 


140 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


wreath  and  veil.  But  all  these  things  had  become  such  a 
weariness  to  the  man  that,  dearly  as  he  loved  this  one  pre 
cious  daughter,  he  began  to  look  forward  with  almost  a  sense 
of  relief  to  the  one  week  of  her  absence.  During  that  week 
he  need  disguise  nothing,  he  need  not  go  to  the  office,  he 
need  not  put  on  this  forced  cheerfulness.  He  might  stay  in 
bed  all  day  long  if  he  pleased. 

That  week  was  near  now,  for  it  was  the  twelfth  of  April. 
In  another  eight  days  the  wedding  morning  would  dawn. 

Charlotte  was  very  busy.  What  young  woman  is  not  busy 
at  such  a  time  ?  Friends  poured  in,  presents  arrived  at  all 
hours.  There  were  dressmakers  and  milliners  to  see  and 
consult,  from  morning  to  night.  Then  Hinton  took  up  some 
of  his  bride  elect's  time,  and  the  evening  hours  were  given 
to  her  father.  Seeing  how  much  he  liked  having  her  all  to 
himself  after  dinner  each  night,  Charlotte  had  begged  her 
lover  not  to  come  to  see  her  at  this  particular  time. 

"You  will  have  me  for  all  the  re,;  of  my  life,  John,"  she 
would  say,  "  and  I  think  it  does  my  father  good  to  be  quite 
alone  with  me.  It  reminds  him  of  old  times."  Then,  when 
Hinton  acceded  to  her  request,  she  often  added,  "  My  father 
puzzles  me.  Is  it  the  parting  from  me  makes  him  look  so  ill 
and  sad  ?  I  often  fear  that  there  is  more  the  matter  with 
him  than  he  lets  appear.  I  wish  he  would  consult  a  good 
doctor." 

Hinton  dared  not  tell  her  that  he  had  consulted  the  very 
best.  He  could  only  try  to  turn  her  attention,  and  in  this 
he  believed  that  he  succeeded  much  better  than  he  really  did. 
For  when  the  night  came  after  those  quiet  evenings,  Char 
lotte  found  that  she  could  not  sleep.  Was  it  excitement  at 
her  coming  happiness,  or  was  it  anxiety  ? 

Anxiety  was  new  to  this  happy  nature — new  to  this  pros 
perous  life.  She  shuddered  at  the  grim  thing,  as  it  visited 
her  night  after  night,  in  the  solitude  of  her  luxurious  room. 
But  shut  her  eyes  to  it,  fight  against  it,  as  she  would,  it  could 
not  be  got  to  depart  from  her.  The  fact  was,  a  dreadful 
thing  had  happened  to  this  frank  and  loving  nature,  she  was 
beginning  to  suspect  tre  father. whom  she  loved.  These  sus 
picions  had  first  come  into  play  on  the  night  when  he  had 
fainted  in  her  presence.  Some  words  he  had  used  that  night, 
some  expressions  which  had  fallen  from  his  lips,  had  aroused 
a  new  and  dreadful  thought ,  that  thought  would  not  go  to 
sleep,  would  not  depart.  Was  it  possible  that  her  father 
had  done  something  wrong  long  ago  in  his  life,  and  that  the 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


141 


remembrance  of  that  wrong — that  sin — was  what  ailed  him 
now  ?  Was  it  possible  that  her  uncle  Jasper,  who  always  ap 
peared  so  frank  and  open,  had  deceived  her  ?  Was  it  pos 
sible  that  Hinton  knew  that  she  was  deceived?  These 
thoughts  did  not  trouble  her  much  in  the  daytime,  but  at 
night  they  rose  to  agonies.  They  kept  sleep  far  away  :  so 
much  so,  that  in  the  morning  she  often  came  downstairs 
heavy-eyed  and  weary.  She  blamed  herself,  then,  for  her 
mean  suspicions ;  she  said  to  herself,  as  she  gave  her  father 
his  morning  cup  of  coffee,  that  no  face  could  be  more  inca 
pable  of  concealing  a  wrong  than  that  noble  old  face  oppo 
site  to  her,  and  she  tried  to  atone  for  her  feelings  by  extra 
tenderness  of  voice  and  manner.  But  though  this  revulsion 
of  feeling  came  with  the  morning,  the  night  brought  back 
the  same  agony.  She  now  disliked  even  to  think  of  Mrs. 
Home,  she  .never  spoke  of  her  to  John  Hinton.  He  watched 
for  her  to  do  so,  but  the  name  of  this  young  woman  which 
had  so  intensely  interested  her  never  passed  her  lips.  When 
Hinton  told  her  that  little  Harold  was  better,  and  that  on  a 
certain  day  he  and  his  mother  would  be  in  Kentish  Town 
once  more,  she  colored  slightly  and  changed  the  subject. 
Kinton  rather  wondered  at  this.  Uncle  Jasper  also  remarked 
it.  It  was  now  a  week  to  the  wedding-day,  and  Charlotte 
was  nerving  herself  for  an  effort.  She  had  firmly  resolved 
that  before  she  really  gave  herself  to  Hinton,  she  would  read 
her  grandfather's  will.  She  felt  that  nothing  else  would  com 
pletely  set  her  mind  at  rest.  She  dreaded  doing  this  as 
much  as  she  longed  for  it.  Each  day  as  it  dawned  she  had 
put  off  the  task,  but  when  the  day  just  a  week  before  her 
wedding  came,  she  felt  that  she  must  overcome  wrhat  she 
called  a  weakness.  She  would  learn  the  worst  that  very 
day.  She  had  little  or  no  idea  how  to  carry  out  her  design. 
She  only  knew  that  the  will  was  kept  at  Somerset  House, 
that  if  she  went  there  and  allowed  herself  to  go  through  cer 
tain  forms  she  should  see  it.  She  had  never  seen  a  will  in 
her  life,  she  scarcely  knew  even  what  it  would  look  like. 
Nevertheless,  she  could  consult  no  one.  She  must  just  go  to 
the  place  and  trust  to  circumstances  to  do  the  rest. 

On  the  thirteenth  of  April  she  resolved,  as  she  put  on  her 
dress  and  hurried  down  to  meet  her  father  at  breakfast,  that 
before  that  night  came  she  would  carry  out  her  design.  Her 
father  seemed  better  that  morning.  The  day  was  a  specially 
lovely  one,  and  Charlotte  said  to  herself  that,  before  that 
lime 'to-morrow,  her  heart  would  be  at  rest;  she  would  not 


1 42  HOW  77"  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

even  allow  herself  to  glance  at  a  darker  alternative.  In 
deed,  happy  in  having  at  last  firmly  made  up  her  mind;  she 
became  suddenly  scarcely  at  all  fearful,  scarcely  anything 
but  completely  hopeful.  She  resolved  that  nothing  should 
turn  her  from  her  purpose  to-day. 

Her  father  kissed  her,  told  her  he  felt  certainly  better, 
and  went  off  to  the  city. 

Immediately  after,  her  uncle  Jasper  came  in. 

"  Lottie,  child  1  I  can  take  you  to  the  private  view  of 

Mrs. 's  pictures;  I  have  just  got  an  invitation.  You 

know  how  wild  you  are  to  see  them.  Be  ready  ai  two  o'clock. 
I  will  call  for  you  then." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  but  I  cannot  go  with  you  this  after 
noon,  Uncle  Jasper." 

"  Oh !  You  have  made  an  engagement  with  Hinton. 
Can't  you  put  it  off  ?  This  is  the  last  day  for  the  pictures. 
You  can  go  with  Hinton  to-morrow." 

"  It  is  not  an  engagement  with  John,  Uncle  Jasper.  It 
is  something  else,  and  I  cannot  put  ofT." 

All  the  time  a  rather  loud  voice  within  was  saying  to  her, 
"  Go  and  see  the  pictures.  Put  off  the  reading  of  the  will. 
Be  happy  for  one  more  day."  But  because  this  voice,  which 
became  so  loud,  frightened  her,  she  would  not  yield  to  it. 

"I  am  very  sorry,"  she  repeated ;  "I  should  have  liked 
it  greatly.  But  I  cannot  go." 

Well !  it  is  a  pity,  and  I  took  some  trouble  about  it. 
However,  it  can't  be  helped." 

"  No,  it  can't  be  helped,"  repeated  Charlotte. 

Uncle  Jasper  went,  feeling  some  annoyance,  and  also  a 
little  curiosity. 

"  Strange  cattle — women,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  I  con 
fess  I  don't  understand  'em.  Charlotte,  wild  to  get  to  that 
private  view  two  days  ago,  now  won't  go  because  of  a  whim. 
Well !  I'm  glad  I  never  took  a  wife.  I  rather  pity  Hinton. 
I  would  not  be  tied  even  to  that  fine  creature,  Lottie,  forever." 

Jasper  Harman  had  scarcely  turned  the  corner  of  the 
street,  befoie  a  cab  drew  up  at  the  house,  and  Hinton  came 
in.  Charlotte  had  not  yet  left  the  breakfast  room. 

"  Ah  !  my  dearest,  I  am  afraid  you  might  be  out  I  must 
hurry  away  at  once ;  but  I  just  called  to  say  that  I  have  had 
a  telegram  from  Webster.  You  know  how  I  have  longed 
for  you  two  to  meet.  Well,  he  is  coming  to  town  to-day,  and 
I  want  to  bring  him  here  at  three  o'clock.  You  will  be  sure 
to  be  at  home." 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


'43 


"  I  am  afraid  I  can't,  John  ;  I  have  an  engagement." 

"  Oh  !  but  you  must  put  it  off,  you  really  must  see  Webster. 
He  is  my  greatest  friend,  and  is  to  be  my  best  man.  You 
really  must,  Lottie  !  and  he  telegraphs  that  he  is  coming  up 
from  Oxford  on  purpose." 

"  I  am  ever  so  sorry.  Could  not  you  telegraph  to  him 
put  off  his  visit  until  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  No,  my  dear ;  he  has  started  before  this." 

"I  am  very  sorry  ;  lam  unfortunate,"  repeated  Charlotte. 
A  certain  degree  of  obstinacy,  altogether  foreign  to  her  na 
ture,  had  crept  into  her  voice. 

Hinton  looked  at  her  in  undisguised  astonishment, 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  are  not  going  to  see 
Webster,  when  he  is  coming  up  to  town  on  purpose  ?  " 

"  John,  dear,  I  will  see  him  at  five  o'clock,  I  shall  be 
home  then.  But  I  have  an  engagement  at  three." 

"  I  cannot  bring  Webster  here  at  five,  he  must  be  on  his 
way  back  then.  You  must  put  off  your  engagement." 

"  I  really  cannot.  Uncle  Jasper  has  just  been  here,  and 
he  asked  me  to  go  with  him  to  see  the  private  views  at  Mrs. 

's  studio.  He  took  some  trouble  to  get  the  invitation 

for  us  both,  but  I  could  not  go  with  him,  nor  can  I  stay  in. 
Mr.  Webster  must  wait  to  make  my  acquaintance  on  our 
wedding-day,  John." 

"  And  I  am  to  tell  him  that  ? " 

"  Say  everything  as  nice  and  polite  as  you  can.  Say  that 
I  am  most  truly  sorry." 

Hinton  turned  his  back  on  his  promised  bride  ;  there 
was  a  cloud  on  his  brow,  he  felt  both  hurt  and  angry. 

"  Lottie  !  what  is  your  engagement  ?  "  This  was  said 
while  pretending  to  look  down  the  street. 

Charlotte  came  close  and  put  her  hand  a  little  timidly 
on  his  shoulder.  "  I  know  you  will  be  vexed,"  she  said  "  but 
I  cannot  tell  you." 

Hinton  held  up  his  hand  to  a  passing  hansom. 

"  Yes,  I  am  vexed,"  he  said,  "  but  I  cannot  wait  any  long 
er  now.  You  know  I  hate  secrets,  and  I  think  you  might 
have  obliged  me,  Charlotte." 

"  I  wish  I  could,"  she  said,  and  now  her  eyes  filled  with 
tears. 

Hinton  scarcely  kissed  her  before  he  rushed  away,  and 
Charlotte  sank  down  on  the  nearest  chair.  The  unaccount 
able  feeling  which  had  prompted  her  to  refuse  both  her 
uncle  and  her  lover,  and  to  fix  just  that  hour  of  three  o'clock 


144 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROU.VD. 


to  visit  Somerset  House,  was  too  strange  and  strong  to  be 
overcome.  But  the  hope  which  had  brightened  her  break 
fast  hour  had  now  all  departed.  Her  heart  felt  like  lead 
within  her  breast,  she  dared  not  fully  contemplate  the  real 
ization  of  her  worst  fears.  But  they  thronged  like  legion 
round  her  path. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

WHERE  HAD  THE  MONEY  CARES  VANISHED  TO? 

HINTON  felt  thoroughly  angry ;  perhaps  he  had  some 
cause.  Webster,  his  college  chum,  his  greatest  friend,  was 
coming  up  to  town.  He  had  heard  many  times  and  often 
of  Hinton's  promised  bride,  and  he  was  coming  to  town, 
Hinton  knew  well  at  some  personal  inconvenience,  to  see  her, 
and  she  refused  to 'see  him. 

Hinton,  as  well  as  Uncle  Jasper,  considered  it  a  whim 
of  Charlotte's.  He  was  surprised.  Nay,  he  was  more  than 
surprised.  He  was  really  angry.  Here  was  the  woman, 
who  in  a  week's  time  now  must  stand  up  before  God  and 
promise  solemnly  to  obey  him  for  all  the  remainder  of  her  life, 
refusing  to  attend  to  his  most  natural  desire.  She  had  an 
engagement,  and  she  would  not  tell  him  what  it  was  ;  she 
made  a  secret  of  it.  Be  the' secret  little  or  great,  she  knew 
how  he  disliked  all  such  concealments. 

Was  it  possible  that  he  was  deceived  in  Charlotte  after 
all  ?  No,  no,  he  was  too  really  loyal  to  her,  too  sincerely 
attached  to  her  :  her  frankness  and  sweetness  were  too  nat 
ural,  too  complete,  for  him  really  to  doubt  her  ;  but  he  owned 
that  he  was  disappointed — he  owned  that  he  had  not  the 
greatness  which  she  under  similar  circumstances  would  have 
exercised.  She  was  keeping  him  in  the  dark — in  the  dark 
he  could  not  trust.  He  recalled,  with  feelings  of  anything 
but  pleasure,  her  last  secret.  She  thought  little  of  it.  But 
Hinton  knew  how  differently  he  had  received  it ;  he  did  not 
like  to  be  reminded  of  it  now.  During  the  last  few  weeks 
he  had  managed  almost  completely  to  banish  it  from  his 
thoughts  ;  but  now  it  came  buck  to  his  memory  v/ith  some 
force  ;  it  reminded  him  of  Mrs.  Home.  Was  it  possible  that 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  i_^ 

he  was  acting  wrongly  in  not  searching  into  her  rights  ? 
Was  it  possible  that  things  had  already  come  to  such  a  pass 
with  him,  that  he  would  not  do  the  right  because  he  feared 
the  consequences  ?  Had  riches  and  wealth  and  worldly 
honor  already  become  dearer  to  his  soul  than  righteousness 
and  judgment  and  truth  ? 

These  condemnatory  thoughts  were  very  painful  to  the 
young  man  ;  but  they  turned  his  feelings  of  indignation  from 
Charlotte  to  himself. 

It  was  nearly  a  month  now  since  he  had  left  Mrs.  Home. 
When  he  went  away  he  had  provided  her  with  another  lod 
ger.  He  remembered  that  by  this  time  she  must  have  come 
back  from  Torquay.  As  this  thought  came  to  him  he  stop 
ped  suddenly  and  pulled  out  his  watch.  Webster  would  not 
be  at  Paddingron  before  two  o'clock.  He  had  nothing  very 
special  to  do  that  morning,  he  would  jump  into  a  hansom 
and  go  and  see  Mrs.  Home  and  Harold.  He  put  his 
ideas  into  execution  without  an  instant's  delay,  and  arrived 
at  Kentish  Tov/n  and  drew  up  at  the  well-known  door  at 
quite  an  early  hour.  Daisy  and  the  baby  were  already  out, 
but  Harold,  still  something  of  an  invalid,  stood  by  the  din 
ing-room  wr.xlow.  Harold,  a  little  weary  from  his  journey, 
a  little  spoiled  by  his  happy  month  at  Torquay,,  was  expe 
riencing  some  of  that  flatness,  which  must  now  and  then  visit 
even  a  little  child  v;hen  he  finds  he  must  descend  from  a 
pedestal.  For  a  very  long  time  he  had  been  first  in  every 
one's  thoughts.  He  had  now  to  retire  from  the  privileges  of 
an  invalid  to  the  everyday  position,  the  everyday  life  of  a 
healthy  child.  While  at  Torquay  his  mother  had  no  thought 
for  any  one  but  him ;  but  now,  this  very  morning,  she  had 
clasped  the  baby  in  such  an  ecstasy  of  love  to  her  heart, 
that  little  spoiled  Harold  felt  quite  a  pang  of  jealousy.  It 
was  with  a  shout  therefore  of  almost  ecstasy  that  he  hailed 
Hinton.  He  flew  to  cpen  the  door  for  him  himself,  and 
when  he  entered  the  dining-room  he  instantly  climbed  on 
his  knee.  Hinton  was  really  fond  of  the  boy,  and  Harold 
reflected  with  saiisfaction  that  he  was  altogether  his  ov,-n 
iriend,  that  he  scarcely  knew  either  Daisy  or  the  baby. 

In  a  moment  entered  the  happy,  smiling  mother. 

"  Ah  !  you  have  come  to  see  your  good  work  completed," 
she  said.  "  See  what  a  healthy  little  boy  I  have  brought 
back  v.i^h  me." 

"  We  had  just  a  delicious  time/'  said  Harold,  "  and  I'm 
very  strong  again  now,  ain't  I,  mother?  But  it  wasn't  Mr. 


I46  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

Hinton  gave  us  the  money  to  go  to  Torquay,  it  was  my  pretty 
lady." 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Mrs.  Home,  "  I  think  you  were 
scarcely,  for  all  your  great,  great,  and  real  kindness,  scarcely 
perfect  even  in  that  respect.  I  never  knew  until  a  few 
days  ago,  and  then  it  was  in  a  letter  from  herself,  that  you 
are  so  soon  to  marry  Charlotte  Harman." 

"  Yes,  we  are  to  be  married  on  the  twentieth,"  answered 
Hinton,  "  Has  she  written  to  you  ?  I  am  glad." 

"  I  had  one  letter  from  her.  She  wrote  to  ask  about 
my  boy,  and  to  tell  me  this  of  you." 

•'  She  takes  a  great  interest  in  you,"  said  Hinton. 

"And  I  in  her.  I  believe  I  can  read  character  fairly 
well,  and  in  her  I  see " 

"  What  ? "  asked  the  lover,  with  a  smile. 

"In  brow,  eyes,  and  lips  I   see  truth,  honor,  love,  bra 
very.     Mr.  Hinton,  you  deserve  it  all,  but,  nevertheless,  you 
are  drawing  a  great  prize  in  your  wife." 

"I  believe  I  am,"  answered  the  young  man,  deeply 
moved. 

"  When  can  I  see  my  pretty  lady  again  ?  "  asked  Harold, 
suddenly.  "If  you  are  going  to  marry  her,  do  you  mean  to 
take  her  quite,  quite  away  ?  When  may  I  see  her  ?  " 

"  Before  very  long,  I  hope,  my  dear  boy,"  answered 
Hinton. 

"  He  has  talked  of  her  so  often,"  said  the  mother.  "  I 
never  saw  any  one  who  in  so  short  a  time  so  completely  won 
the  heart  of  a  little  child ;  I  believe  the  thought  of  her 
helped  to  make  him  well.  Ah  !  how  thankful  I  am  when  I 
look  at  him ;  but  Mr.  Hinton,  there  is  another  thing  which 
gives  me  great  joy  just  now." 

"  And  that  >  "  said  Hinton. 

"  Last  night  something  very  wonderful  happened.  I  \vas 
at  home  not  two  hours,  when  I  was  surprised  by  a 
visit  from  one  whom  I  had  never  seen  before  and  whom  I 
had  supposed  to  be  in  his  grave  for  over  twenty  years.  My 
dear  mother  had  one  brother  who  went  to  Australia  shortly 
after  her  marriage.  From  Australia  the  news  reached  her 
of  his  death.  He  was  not  dead  ;  he  came  back  again.  I 
had  a  visit  from  that  uncle  last  night." 

"  How  strange  !  "  said  Hinton. 

"  Yes  ;  I  have  not  heard  his  story  yet.  He  met  my  lit 
tle  Daisy  in  Regent's  Park,  and  found  out  who  she  was 
through  her  likeness  to  my  mother.  Is  it  not  all  like  a  ro- 


HO  IV  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND, 


147 


mance  ?  I  had  not  an  idea  who  the  dear  old  man  was  when 
he  came  to  visit  me  last  night ;  but  how  glad  I  am  now  to 
feel  that  my  own  mother's  brother  is  still  alive  \  " 

Hinton  asked  a  few  more  questions  ;  then  after  many 
promises  of  effecting  a  meeting  very  soon  between  Charlotte 
and  little  Harold  he  went  away.  He  was  puzzled  by  Mrs. 
Home.  The  anxious  woman  he  had  thought  of,  whose  sad 
face  often  haunted  him,  was  gone,  and  another  peaceful, 
happy,  almost  beautiful  in  her  serenity,  had  come  in  her 
place.  Her  joy  at  Harold's  recovery  was  both  natural  and 
right ;  but  where  had  the  money  cares  vanished  to  ?  Surely 
Charlotte's  fifty  pounds  could  not  have  done  more  than  pay 
the  Torquay  trip.  As  to  her  delight  over  her  Australian 
uncle's  return,  he  rather  wondered  at  it,  and  then  forgot  it. 
He  little  guessed,  as  he  allowed  it  to  vanish  from  his  mind, 
how  it  was  yet  to  influence  the  fate  of  more  lives  than  his. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

JASPER'S  TERROR. 

UNCLE  Jasper,  too,  left  Charlotte  on  that  special  morning 
with  some  displeasure,  some  surprise,  and  some  anxiety. 
Remorse,  as  I  have  said,  did  not  visit  the  man.  Long  ago, 
a  very  long  time  ago  now,  he  and  his  brother  John  had 
touched  an  evil  thing.  For  both  men  the  natural  conse 
quences  followed  ;  but  how  differently  ?  John  wanted  to  fling 
the  base  defilement  from  his  soul;  Jasper  wanted  so  to 
bury  it  there,  so  deftly,  so  cleverly  to  hide  it  within  his  very 
heart  of  hearts,  that  it  should  not  appear  to  dishonor  him  in 
the  eyes  of  his  fellow-men.  Of  the  final  judgment  and  its 
disclosure  he  never  thought.  It  was  his  inability  to  cover 
up  the  secret ;  it  was  his  ever-growing  knowledge  that  the 
garment  wa's  neither  long  enough  nor  broad  enough  to  wrap 
it  round,  that  caused  his  anxiety  from  day  to  day.  In  spite 
of  his  cheerful  and  ruddy  face  he  was  feeling  quite  worn  and 
old.  If  this  continues,  if  these  people  will  insist  on  pulling 
the  house  down  over  their  heads,  I  shall  fall  ill  like  John,  he 
reflected.  He  was  very  angry  with  these  stupid  and  silly 
people,  who  were  bringing  such  shame  and  dishonor  on 


148  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

themselves.  He  often  found  himself  wishing  that  his  niece 
Charlotte  had  not  been  the  fine  and  open  character  she  was. 
Had  Charlotte  been  different  he  might  have  ventured  to 
confide  in  her.  He  felt  that  with  Charlotte  on  his  side  all 
might  yet  be  well.  This,  however,  was  absolutely  impossible. 
To  tell  Charlotte  would  be  to  tell  the  world.  Bad  as  her 
father  was  in  keeping  this  ugly  secret  quiet,  Charlotte  would 
be  ten  times,  tv.cnty  times,  worse.  What  an  unfortunate 
thing  it  was  that  Charlotte  had  put  that  advertisement  in 
the  papers,  and  that  Mrs.  Home  had  ansv.-ered  it !  Mrs. 
Home  of  all  people  1  Well,  well,  it  came  of  that  dreadful 
meddling  of  women  in  literature.  He,  Jasper,  had  knov.-n 
no  peace  since  the  day  that  Charlotte  had  wished  for  an 
amanuensis  to  help  her  with  her  silly  book. 

Jasper  on  this  particular  morning,  as  he  hurried  off  from 
the  Harman  house,  felt  less  and  less  comfortable.  He  was 
sure,  by  Charlotte's  manner,  that  her  engagement  was  some 
thing  very  particular.  Pie  feared  she  was  going  to  ine^t 
Mrs.  Home.  He  came,  with  all  his  surmises,  very  far  short 
of  the  real  truth,  but  he  was  in  that  state  of  mind  when  the 
guilty  fly,  with  no  man  pursuing.  It  had  been  an  awful 
moment  for  old  Jasper  Harman  when,  a  week  ago,  he  had 
suddenly  knocked  up  against  that  solitary,  foreign-looking 
man.  He  had  heard  his  voice  and  seen  his  face,  and  he 
had  felt  his  own  heart  standing  still.  Who  was  this  man  ? 
Was  he  a  ghost  ?  the  ghost  of  the  long-dead  trustee  ?  Jasper 
began  to  hope  that  it  was  but  an  accidental  likeness  in  voice  • 
and  manner.  For  was  not  this  man,  this  Alexander  Wilson, 
named  in  his  father's  will,  dead  and  buried  for  many  a  day  ? 
Had  not  he,  Jasper,  not,  indeed,  seen  him  die,  but  had  he 
not  stood  on  his  grave  ?  Had  not  he  travelled  up  some 
hundreds  of  miles  in  that  wild  Australian  country  for  the 
sole  purpose  of  standing  on  that  special  grave  ?  And  had 
not  he  read  name  and  age,  and  date  of  deaih,  all  fully  corro 
borating  the  story  which  had  been  sent  to  him  ?  Yes,  J 
hoped  that  it  was  but  a  very  remarkable  likeness — a  ghost 
of  the  real  man.  How,  indeed,  could  it  be  anything  but  a 
ghost  when  he  had  stood  upon  the  man's  very  grave  ?  He 
hoped  this.  He  had  brought  himself  almost  to  believe  it; 
but  for  all  that,  fear  and  uneasiness  were  becoming  more 
and  more  his  portion,  and  he  did  not  like  to  dwell  even  in 
thought  upon  that  night's  adventures.  He  walked  on  fast. 
He  disliked  cabs,  and  never  took  them.  One  of  his  great 
secrets  of  health  was  exercise,  and  plenty  of  it ;  but  he  was 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


149 


rather  in  a  hurry  ;  he  had  an  appointment  in  town  for  a 
comparatively  early  hour,  and  he  wanted  to  call  at  his  club 
for  letters.  He  reached  his  destination,  entered  the  build 
ing,  and  found  a  little  pile  awaiting  him.  He  turned  slowly 
into  the  reading-room  to  read  them.  One  after  the  other  he 
tore  them  open.  They  were  not  very  interesting,  and  a 
rapid  glance  of  his  quick,  deep  eye  was  sufficient  to  enable 
him  to  master  the  contents.  In  ten  minutes  he  had  but  one 
letter  left  to  read,  and  that  was  in  a  strange  handwriting. 
"  Another  begging  epistle,"  he  said  to  himself.  He  felt  in 
clined  to  tear  it  up  without  going  to  the  trouble  of  opening 
it.  He  had  very  nearly  slipped  it  into  his  pocket,  to  take 
its  chance  at  some  future  time,  for  he  remembered  that  he 
was  already  late.  Finally  he  did  neither;  he  opened  the 
letter  and  read  it  where  he  sat.  This  was  what  his  eyes 
rested  on, — 

"  10,  TREMINS  ROAD,  "  KENTISH  TOWN. 

"  SIR  :— 

"  According  to  your  wish  I  write  to  you  at  your  club. 
My  wife  returned  from  Torquay  last  night,  and  I  told  her 
of  your  visit  and  your  proposal.  She  desires  me  to  say,  and 
this  I  do,  both  from  her  and  myself,  that  she  will  not  accept 
your  offer,  for  reasons  which  we  neither  of  us  care  to  explain. 
We  do  not  wish  for  the  three  thousand  pounds  you  are  will 
ing  to  settle  on  my  wife. 

"  I  remain,  sir, 

"  Yours  faithfully,     . 

"ANGUS  HOME. 
**  To  JASPER  HARMAN,  ESQ." 

This  letter  fell  from  the  hands  of  Jasper.  His  lips  came 
a  little  apart,  and  a  new  look  of  terror  came  into  his  eyes. 
So  absorbed  was  he,  so  thoroughly  frightened  by  this  letter, 
that  he  forgot  where  he  was.  He  neither  saw  the  looks  of 
surprise,  nor  heard  the  words  of  astonishment  made  by  those 
about  him.  Finally  he  gathered  up  envelope  and  paper  and 
hurried  out.  As  he  walked  down  the  street  he  looked  by 
no  means  so  young  as  he  had  done  when  he  got  up  that 
morning.  His  hat  was  put  on  crooked,  his  very  gait  was  un 
certain.  Jasper  had  got  a  shock.  Being  utterly  unable  to 
read  the  minds  of  the  people  who  had  written  to  him,  he 
could  but  imagine  one  meaning  to  their  words.  They  were 
not  so  unworldly  as  he  had  hoped.  They  saw  through  his 
bribe  ;  they  would  not  accept  it,  because — because — they 
knew  better.  Mrs.  Home  had  read  that  will.  Mrs.  Home 


I5o  {HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

meant  to  prosecute.  Yes,  yes,  it  was  all  as  plain  as  that  the 
sun  was  shining  overhead.  Mrs.  Home  meant  to  go  to  law. 
Exposure,  and  disgrace,  and  punishment  were  all  close  at 
hand.  There  was  no  doubt  of  it,  no  doubt  whatever  now. 
Those  were  the  reasons  which  neither  Mr.  nor  Mrs.  Home 
cared  to  explain.  Turning  a  corner  he  came  suddenly  full 
tilt  against  Hinton.  The  young  man  turned  and  walked 
down  the  street  with  him. 

"  You  are  on  your  way  to  Charlotte  ?  "  remarked  the  old 
man. 

"  No  :  I  have  been  to  her  already.     She  has  an  engage 
ment  this  afternoon.     Did  she  not  tell  you  ?     She  said  you 
wanted  her  to  go  somewhere  with  you,  and  this  same  er 
ment  prevented  it.     No,  I   am  not  going  to   Prince's  ' 
but  I    am  off  to   Paddington  in  about   an   hour  to   meet  a 
friend." 

Hinton  spoke  cheerfully,  for  his  passing  annoyance  with 
Charlotte  had  absolutely  vanished  under  Mrs.  Home's  words 
of  loving  praise.  When  Mrs.  Home  spoke  as  she  had  done 
of  his  brave  and  noble  Charlotte  the  young  man  had  felt 
quite  ashamed  of  having  doubted  her  even  for  a  brief 
moment. 

Jasper  had,  however,  been  told  of  little  Harold's  illness, 
and  Hinton,  knowing  this,  continued, — 

"  I  have  just  come  from  the  Homes.  You  know  whom 
I  mean  ?  Their  little  boy  was  the  one  I  helped  to  nurse 
through  scarlet  fever.  Mother  and  boy  have  come  back 
from  Torquay  like  different  creatures  from  the  pleasant 
change.  Mrs,  Home  looked  absolutely  bright.  Charlotte 
will  like  to  hear  of  her;  and  by  the  way,  a  curious  thing,  a 
little  bit  of  a  romance  has  happened  to  her.  An  uncle  from 
Australia,  whom  she  had  supposed  to  be  dead  and  in  his 
grave  for  over  twenty  years,  walked  in  alive  and  hale  last 
night.  She  did  not  know  him  at  first,  but  he  managed  to 

prove   his  identity.       He good  heavens  !   Mr.  Hr.rrnan, 

what  is  the  matter  ?     You  are  ill ;  come  in  here." 

Hinton   led  Jasper  into  a  chemist's   shop,    whkrh  ; 
happened  to  be  passing  at  the  moment,  for  his  ruddy  face 
had  suddenly  become  ghastly  white,  and  he  had  to  clutch 
the  young  man's  arm  to  keep  himself  from  falling. 

"  It  is  nothing."  he  explained,  when  he  had  been  given 
a  restorative.  "  Yes,  I  felt  faint.  I  hope  I  am  not  going  to 
be  taken  bad  like  my  brother.  \Yhnt  do  you  say  ?  a  hansom  ? 
Well,  yes,  perhaps  I  had  better  have  one." 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  jiji 

Jasper  was  bowled  rapidly  out  of  sight  and  Hinton 
walked  on.  No  dust  had  been  thrown  in  his  eyes  as  to  the 
cause  of  Jasper's  agitation.  He  had  observed  the  start  of 
almost  terror  with  which  he  had  turned  on  him  when  he  had 
first  mentioned  the  long-lost  Australian  uncle  of  Mrs.  Home's. 
He  had  often  seen  how  uneasy  he  was,  however  cleverly  he 
tried  to  hide  it,  when  the  Homes  were  mentioned.  What 
did  it  all  mean  ?  Hinton  felt  very  uncomfortable.  Much  as 
he  loved  Charlotte,  it  was  not  nice  to  marry  into  a  family 
who  kept  concealed  an  ugly  secret.  Hinton  was  more  and 
more  convinced  that  there  was  a  secret,  and  that  this  uncle 
who  was  supposed  to  be  dead  was  in  some  way  connected 
with  it.  Hinton  was  too  acute,  too  clever,  to  put  down 
Jasper's  agitation  to  any  other  cause.  Instantly  he  began 
to  see  a  reason  for  Mrs.  Home's  joy  in  the  recovery  of  this 
long-lost  relation.  It  was  a  reason  unworthy  of  her,  un 
worthy  and  untrue  ;  but  nevertheless  it  took  possession  of 
the  mind  of  this  young  man.  The  uncle  ceased  to  be  an  ob 
ject  of  little  interest  to  him.  He  walked  on,  feeling  down 
cast  and  perplexed.  This  day  week  would  be  his  wedding- 
day,  and  Charlotte — Charlotte,  beautiful  and  noble,  nothing 
should  part  them.  But  what  was  this  secret  ?  Could  he, 
dare  he,  fathom  it  ?  No,  because  of  Charlotte  he  must  not 
— it  would  break  Charlotte's  heart ;  because  of  Charlotte's 
father  he  must  not,  for  it  would  cause  his  death ;  and  yet, 
because  of  Jasper,  he  longed  to,  for  he  owned  to  himself 
that  he  disliked  Jasper  more  and  more. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

THE  READING  OF  THE  WILL. 

CHARLOTTE'S  depression  did  not  remain  with  her  all 
through  the  day.  She  was  a  healthy  creature,  healthy  both 
in  body  and  mind.  It  was  impossible  for  her,  with  the  bright 
spring  sun  shining,  and  with  her  wedding-day  but  one  week 
absent,  not  to  turn  again  to  hope.  She  saw  that  she  had 
vexed  Hinton.  She  still  felt  that,  queer  and  uncomfortable 
desire  to  be  at  Somerset  House,  just  at  the  very  hour  when 


152 


JIOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


her  lover  had  pleaded  for  her  society.  But  she  reflected  that 
when  she  told  him  the  story,  when  she  proudly  cleared  her 
father  in  his  eyes,  he  would  most  abundantly  forgive  her. 

"  He  hates  secrets,"  she  said  to  herself ;  "  and  it  is  the  last, 
the  very  last,  little,  tiny  secret  I  shall  ever  have  from  my 
darling." 

By  this  it  will  be  seen  that  she  had  ceased  to  fear  her 
grandfather's  will.  She  had  ordered  the  carriage  immediately 
after  lunch,  and  now  asked  the  coachman  to  drive  to  the 
Strand.  As  she  lay  back  at  her  ease  she  reflected  how  soon 
now  her  anxiety  would  be  over. 

"  Dear  father,"  she  whispered  to  her  heart,  "how  extra 
loving  and  tender  I  must  be  to  him  to-night  !  I  believe  him 
now — fully  and  absolutely  believe  him  now.  I  am  only  doing 
this  for  John's  sake." 

When  she  reached  the  Strairl  she  desired  the  coachman 
to  stop.  She  would  not  have  him  drive  to  Somerset  House. 
Her  secret  was  a  secret ,  even  the  old  coachman,  who  had 
known  her  from  her  birth,  must  not  guess  it.  She  told  him 
that  she  had  some  business  to  transact,  but  that  he  might 
meet  her  at  a  certain  part  of  the  Embankment  in  an  hour. 

The  carriage  rolled  out  of  s4ght.  Now  she  was  alone. 
She  was  not  accustomed  to  walking  the  London  streets  by 
herself.  Certainly  she  had  never  been  in  the  Strand  before 
alone.  She  had  dressed  herself  with  studied  plainness,  and 
now,  with  her  veil  drawn  tightly  over  her  face,  she  hurried 
on.  She  had  consulted  the  map,  and  knew  exactly  where 
Somerset  House  was.  She  also  had  obtained  a  little,  a  very 
little  information  as  to  how  she  was  to  act  for  the  pursuit  of 
her  purpose,  from  a  young  barrister  who  had  visited  at  her 
home  \vith  Hinton  some  few  weeks  before.  She  considered  that 
she  had  gained  her  knowledge  with  considerable  skill ;  and 
now,  with  a  beating  heart,  she  proceeded  to  act  on  it.  She 
turned  into  the  great  square  which  Somerset  House  encloses, 
found  the  particuliar  building  where  wills  are  kept,  and  en 
tered.  She  was  now  in  a  large  room,  or  entrance-hall. 
There  were  many  desks  about,  and  some  clerks,  who  did 
not  seem  particularly  busy.  Charlotte  went  up  to  one  of  the 
desks,  a  clerk  lent  an  attentive  ear,  she  told  her  errand. 

"  Ah  !  you  want  to  read  a  will,"  said  the  gentleman. 
"  You  must  first  produce  the  proper  stamp.  Yes,  yes,  you 
can  certainly  see  any  will  you  desire.  Just  go  through  that 
door  to  your  right,  walk  down  the  passage;  you  will  see  a 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


153 


door  with   such  a  direction  written  on  it ;  ask   for  a  search 
stamp.     It  will  cost  you  a  shilling.     Bring  it  back  to  me." 

Charlotte  did  as  she  was  desired.  The  clerk  she  had 
appealed  to,  attracted  by  her  appearance  and  manner,  was 
willing  to  be  both  helpful  and  polite. 

"  Whose  will  do  you  want,  madam  ?  " 

"  I  want  my  grandfather's  will.     His  name  was  Harman.1' 

"  What  year  did  he  die  ? " 

"  Twenty-three  years  ago." 

"  Ah  !  just  so.  This  is  1880.  So  he  died  in  the  year 
1857.  Do  you  see  those  catalogues  to  your  left  ?  Go  up  to 
those  marked  1857.  Look  under  letter  H,  until  you  find 
Harman.  Bring  the  book  open  at  that  name  to  me." 

Charlotte  was  clever  at  carrying  out  her  instructions.  She 
quickly  returned  with  the  book  opened  at  the  desired  name. 
The  clerk  wrote  Mr.  Harman's  name  and  a  number  of  a 
folio  on  a  small  piece  of  blue  paper.  This  he  gave  to  Char 
lotte. 

"  Take  this  piece  of  paper  to  room  number  31,  along  the 
passage,"  he  said.  "  You  will  have  the  will  very  soon  now." 

She  bowed,  thanked  him,  and  went  away.  At  room  31 
she  was  desired  to  wait  in  the  reading-room.  She  found  it 
without  difficulty.  It  was  a  small  room,  with  a  long  table  in 
the  middle,  and  benches  round  it.  At  one  end  sat  a  clerk  at 
a  desk.  Charlotte  seated  herself  at  the  table.  There  were 
other- people  about,  some  reading  wills,  some  others  waiting 
like  herself.  She  happened  just  then  to  be  the  only  woman 
in  the  room.  She  drew  up  her  veil,  pressed  her  hand  to  her 
pale  face,  and  waited  with  what  patience  she  could.  She 
was  too  much  excited  to  notice  how  she  was  looked  at  and  her 
appearance  commented  upon.  Sitting  there  and  waiting  with 
what  courage  she  could  muster,  her  fear  returned.  What 
stealthy  thing  was  this  she  was  doing  in  the  dark  ?  What 
inarch  was  she  stealing  on  her  father,  her  beloved  and  hon 
ored  father  ?  Suddenly  it  appeared  to  her  that  she  had  done 
wrong.  That  it  would  be  better,  more  dignified,  more  noble, 
to  ask  from  his  own  lips  the  simple  truth,  than  to  learn  it  by 
such  underhand  means  as  these.  She  half  rose  to  go  away  ; 
but  at  this  moment  a  clerk  entered,  gave  a  piece  of  folded 
paper  to  the  man  at  the  desk,  who  read  aloud  the  one 
word, — 

"Harman.' 

Charlotte  felt  herself  turning  deadly  white  as  she  stood  up 
to  receive  it.     But  when  she  really  held  her  grandfather's 


»54 


IfOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUNDi 


will  in  her  hand  all  desire  not  to  read  it  had  left  her.  She 
opened  the  folio  with  her  shaking  ringers,  and  began  to  read 
as  steadily  as  she  could.  Her  eyes  had  scarcely,  however, 
turned  over  the  page,  and  most  certainly  her  mind  had  failed 
to  grasp  the  meaning  of  a  single  word,  before,  for  some  un 
accountable  reason,  she  raised  her  head.  A  large  man  had 
come  in  and  had  seated  himself  opposite  to  her.  He  was  a 
man  on  an  immense  scale,  with  a  rough,  red,  kind  face,  and 
the  longest,  most  brilliantly  colored  beard  Charlotte  had 
ever  seen.  His  round,  bright  blue  eyes  were  fixed  earnestly 
on  the  young  lady.  She  returned  his  glance,  in  her  own 
peculiar  full  and  open  way,  then  returned  to  her  interrupted 
task.  Ah  !  what  a  task  it  was  after  all.  Hard  to  understand, 
how  difficult  to  follow  !  Charlotte,  unused  to  all  law  phrase 
ology,  failed  to  grasp  the  meaning  of  what  she  read.  She  knit 
her  pretty  brows,  and  went  over  each  passage  many  times. 
She  was  looking  for  certain  names,  and  she  saw  no  mention 
of  them.  Her  heart  began  to  leap  with  renewed  joy  and 
hope.  Ah  !  surely,  surely  her  grandfather  had  been  unjust, 
and  her  own  beloved  father  was  innocent.  Mrs.  Home's 
story  was  but  a  myth.  She  had  read  for  such  a  long,  long 
time,  and  there  was  no  mention  of  her  or  of  her  mother. 
Surely  if  her  grandfather  meant  to  leave  them  money  he 
would  have  spoken  of  it  before  now.  She  had  just  turned 
another  page,  and  was  reading  on  with  a  light  heart,  when 
the  clerk  again  entered.  Charlotte  raised  her  head,  she 
could  not  tell  why.  The  clerk  said  something  to  the  clerk 
at  the  desk,  who,  turning  to  the  tall  foreign-looking  man 
said, — 

"  The  will  of  the  name  of  Harman  is  being  read  just  now 
by  some  one  in  the  room." 

"I  will  wait  then,"  answered  the  man  in  his  de«p 
voice. 

Charlotte  felt  herself  turning  first  crimson,  then  pale. 
She  saw  that  the  man  observed  her.  A  sudden  sense  of 
fright  and  of  almost  terror  oppressed  her.  Her  sweet  and 
gracious  calm  completely  deserted  her.  Her  fingers  trem 
bled  so  that  she  could  scarcely  turn  the  page.  She  did  not 
know  what  she  feared.  A  nightmare  seemed  pressing  on 
her.  She  felt  that  she  could  never  grasp  the  meaning  of 
the  will.  Her  eyes  travelled  farther  down  the  page.  Sud 
denly  her  finger  stopped ;  her  brain  grew  clear,  her  heart 
beat  steadily.  This  was  what  she  read, — 

"  I  will  and  bequeath  all  the  residue  of  my  real  and  per- 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  ISS 

sonal  estate  and  effects  to  the  said  John  Harman  Jasper 
Harman,  and  Alexander  Wilson,  in  trust  to  sell  and  realize 
the  same,  and  out  of  the  proceeds  thereof  to  invest  such  a 
sum  in  public  stocks  or  funds,  or  other  authorized  securities, 
as  will  produce  an  annual  income  of  ,£1,200  a  year,  and  to 
hold  the  investment  of  the  said  sum  in  trust  to  pay  the  in 
come  thereof  to  my  dear  wife  for  her  life  :  and  after  her  de 
cease  to  hold  the  said  investment  in  trust  for  my  daughter 
Charlotte  to  her  sole  and  separate  use,  independently  of  any 
husband  with  whom  she  may  intermarry." 

Charlotte  Harman  was  not  the  kind  of  woman  who  faints. 
But  there  is  a  heart  faintness  when  the  muscles  remain 
unmoved,  and  the  eyes  are  still  bright.  At  that  moment  her 
youth  died  absolutely.  But  though  she  felt  its  death  pang, 
not  a  movement  of  her  proud  face  betrayed  her.  She  saw, 
without  looking  at  him,  that  the  red-faced  man  was  watching 
her.  She  forced  herself  to  raise  her  eyes,  and  saying  simply, 
"  This  is  Mr.  Harman's  will,"  handed  it  to  him  across  the 
table.  He  took  it,  and  began  to  devour  the  contents  with 
quick  and  practised  eyes.  What  she  had  taken  so  long  to 
discover  he  took  it  in  at  a  glance.  She  heard  him  utter  a 
a  smothered  exclamation  of  pain  and  horror.  She  felt  not 
the  least  amazement  or  curiosity.  All  emotion  seemed  dead 
in  her.  She  drew  on  her  gloves  deliberately,  pulled  down 
her  veil,  and  left  the  room.  That  dead,  dead  youth  she  was 
dragging  away  with  her  had  made  her  feel  so  cold  and  numb 
that  she  never  noticed  that  the  red  faced  man  had  hastily 
folded  up  the  will,  had  returned  at  to  the  clerk  at  the  desk, 
and  was  following  her.  She  went  through  the  entrance  hall, 
glancing  neither  to  the  left  or  right.  The  man  came  near. 
When  they  both  got  into  the  square  he  came  to  her  side, 
raised  his  hat  and  spoke. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

TRUSTEES. 


"  MADAM,"  said  the  stranger,  "  you  will  pardon  my  in 
truding  on  you,  but  I  saw  it  in  your  face.  You  are  interested  in 
that  will  you  have  just  read." 


156  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Charlotte  simply. 

At  another  time  she  would  have  given  an  indignant  retort 
to  what  she  would  have  considered  a  liberty.  Now  she 
turned  her  eyes  with  a  mute  appeal  in  them  to  this  stranger, 
for  she  recognized  kindness  in  his  tones. 

"  It  was  my  grandfather's  will,"  she  said,  responding  yet 
farther  to  the  full,  kind  gaze  he  gave  her  back. 

"  Ah !  then  that  sets  me  right,"  said  Sandy  Wilson,  for  it 
was  he.  "  That  sets  me  right,  young  lady.  Now  I  saw  you 
got  a  considerable  bit  of  a  shock  just  then.  You  ain't,  you'll 
forgive  me  for  saying  so,  but  you  ain't  quite  fit  to  meet  any 
of  your  people  for  a  bit ;  you  may  want  them  not  to  guess, 
but  any  one  with  half  an  eye  can  see  you're  not  the  young 
lady  you  were  even  when  I  entered  that  reading-room  not 
half  an  hour  back.  I'm  a  rough,  plain  man,  but  I'm  very 
much  interested  in  that  will  too,  and  I'd  like  to  have  a  little 
bit  of  a  talk  with  you  about  it,  if  you'll  allow  me.  Suppose, 
miss,  that  you  and  I  just  take  a  turn  round  the  square  for  a 
few  moments." 

Charlotte's  answer  to  this  was  to  turn  her  face  again  to 
wards  the  particular  building  where  she  had  read  the  will, 
and  her  companion,  turning  with  her,  began  to  talk  eagerly. 

"  You  see,  miss,  it  was  quite  a  little  bit  of  luck  brought 
you  and  me  together  to-day.  The  gentleman  who  made  that 
will  was  your  grandfather  ;  your  name  is " 

"  Harman,"  answered  Charlotte. 

"  Ah !  yes,  I  see  ;  and  I — I  am  Alexander  Wilson.  I 
don't  suppose  you  ever  saw  me  before  ;  but  I,  too,  am  much 
interested  in  that  will.  I  have  been  abroad,  and — and — 
supposed  to  be  dead  almost  ever  since  that  will  was  made. 
But  I  was  not  dead,  I  was  in  Australia;  I  came  home  a  week 
ago,  and  found  out  my  one  living  relation,  my  niece,  my 
sister's  child.  She  is  married  and  is  a  Mrs.  Home  now,  but 
she  is  the  Charlotte  named  in  Mr.  Harman's  will,  the  Char 
lotte  to  whom,  and  to  her  mother  before  her,  Mr,  Harman 
left  .£1,200  a  year." 

"  Yes,"  said  Charlotte  Harman.  She  found  difficulty  in 
dragging  this  one  word  from  her  lips. 

"  Madam,  I  find  my  niece  very  poor  ;  very,  very  poor.  I 
go  and  look  at  her  father's  will.  I  see  there  that  she  is  en 
titled  to  wealth,  to  what  she  would  consider  riches.  I  find 
also  that  this  money  is  left  for  her  benefit  in  the  hands  of 
trusteed  ;  two  of  the  trustees  are  called  Harman,  the  other, 
madam,  is — is  I — myself ;  I — Alexander  Wilson,  am  the 


HOV/  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


157 


other  trustee,  supposed  to  be  dead.  I  could  not  hitherto  act, 
but  I  can  act  now.  I  can  get  that  wronged  woman  back  her 
own.  Yes,  a  monstrous  piece  of  injustice  has  been  done. 
It  was  full  time  for  Sandy  Wilson  to  come  home.  Now  the 
first  thing  I  must  do  is  to  find  the  other  trustees  ;  I  must 
find  the  Harmans,  wherever  they  are,  for  these  Harmans 
have  robbed  my  niece." 

"I  can  give  you  their  addresses,"  answered  Charlotte, 
suddenly  pausing  in  her  walk  and  turning  and  facing  her 
companion.  "John  Harman,  the  other  trustee,  who,  as  you 
say,  has  robbed  Mrs.  Home,  is  my  father.  I  am  his  only 
child.  His  address  is  Prince's  Gate,  Kensington." 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  said  Wilson,  shocked  and  frightened 
by  her  manner ;  "  I  never  guessed  that  you  were  his  child — 
and  yet  you<  betray  him." 

"  I  am  his  only  child.     When  do  you  wish  to  see  him  ?  " 

To  this  question  Wilson  made  no  answer  for  a  few  mo 
ments.  Though  a  just  man,  he  was  a  kind  one.  He  could 
read  human  nature  with  tolerable  accuracy.  It  was  despair, 
not  want  of  feeling,  which  put  those  hard  tones  into  that 
young  voice.  He  would  not,  he  could  not,  take  advantage 
of  its  bewilderment. 

"  Miss  Harman,"  he  said  after  a  pause,  "  you  will  pardon 
me,  but  I  don't  think  you  quite  know  what  you  are  saying ; 
you  have  got  a  considerable  bit  of  a  shock ;  you'  were  not 
prepared  for  this  baseness — this  baseness  on  your  father's 
part." 

Here  her  eyes,  turned  with  a  sudden  swift  flash  of  agony 
upon  him,  said  as  plainly  as  eyes  could  speak — 

"  Need  you  ask  ? " 

"  No,  you  could  not  have  guessed  it,"  continued  Sandy, 
replying  to  this  mute,  though  beautiful  appeal,  almost  wtih 
tears.  "  You  are  Mr.  Harman's  only  child.  Now  I  daresay 
you  are  a  good  bit  of  an  idol  with  him.  I  know  how  I'd 
worship  a  fine  lassie  like  you  if  I  had  her.  Well,  well,  miss : 
I  don't  want  to  pain  you,  but  when  young  things  come  all  on 
a  heap  on  a  great  wrong  like  you  have  done  to-day,  they're 
apt,  whatever  their  former  love,  to  be  a  bit,  just  a  bit,  too 
hard.  They  do  things,  in  their  first  agony,  that  they  are 
sorry  enough  for  by  and  by.  Now,  miss,  what  I  want  to  say 
is  this,  that  I  won't  take  down  your  father's  address  to-day 
nor  listen  indeed  to  anything  you  may  tell  me  about  him.  I 
want  you  to  sleep  it  over,  miss.  Of  course  something  must 
be  done,  but  if  you  will  sleep  it  over,  and  I,  Sandy  Wilson 


!58  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

sleep  it  over  too,  we'll  come  together  over  the  business  with 
our  heads  a  deal  clearer  than  we  could  when  we  both  felt 
scared,  so  to  speak,  as  we  doubtless  do  just  at  present.  I 
won't  move  hand  or  foot  in  the  matter  until  I  see  you  again, 
Miss  Harman,  When  do  you  think  you  will  be  able  to  see 
me  again  ?  " 

"  Will  this  hour  to-morrow  do  ? " 

"  Yes ;  I  shall  be  quite  at  your  service.  And  as  we  may 
want  to  look  at  that  will  again,  suppose  we  meet  just  here, 
miss?" 

"  I  will  be  here  at  this  hour  to-morrow,"  said  Charlotte, 
and  as  she  spoke  she  pulled  out  her  watch  to  mark  the  exact 
time.  "  It  is  a  quarter  past  four  now,"  she  said ;  "  I  will 
meet  you  here  at  this  hour  to-morrow,  at  a  quarter  past 
four." 

"  Very  well,  young  lady,  and  may  God  help  you  !  If  I 
might  express  a  wish  for  you,  it  is  that  you  may  have  a  good 
hard  cry  between  now  and  then.  When  I  was  told,  and  quite 
sudden  like  too,  that  my  little  sister,  Daisy  Wilson,  was  dead 
nothing  took  off  the  pressure  from  my  heart  and  brain  like  a 
good  hearty  cry.  So  I  wish  you  the  same.  They  say  women 
need  it  more  than  men." 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 
DAN'S  WIFE. 

CHARLOTTE  watched  Wilson  out  of  the  square,  then  she 
slowly  followed  him.  The  numbness  of  that  dead  youth  was 
still  oppressing  her  heart  and  brain.  But  she  remembered 
that  the  carriage  must  be  waiting  for  her  on  the  Embank 
ment,  also  that  her  father — she  gasped  a  little  as  the  thought 
of  her  father  came  to  her — that  her  father  would  have 
returned  from  the  city;  that  he  might  ask  for  her,  and  would 
wonder  and  grow  uneasy  at  her  absence.  She  must  go  home, 
that  was  her  first  thought.  She  hurried  her  steps,  anxious  to 
take  the  first  turning  which  would  lead  to  the  Embankment. 

She  had  turned  down  a  side  street  and  was  walking 
rapidly,  when  she  heard  her  name  called  suddenly  and 


HO IV  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


159 


eagerly,  and  a  woman,  very  shabbily  dressed,  came  up  to 
her. 

"Oh,  Miss  Harman — Miss  Harman — don't  you  know 
me?" 

Charlotte  put  her  hand  to  her  brow. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  know  you  now ;  you  are  Hester 
Wright.  Is  your  husband  out  of  prison  yet  ? " 

"  He  is,  Miss,  and  he's  dying;  he's  dying  'ard,  'ard ;  he's 
allers  saying  as  he  wants  to  see  either  you  or  his  master.  We 
are  told  that  the  master  is  ill ;  but  oh  !  miss,  miss,  ef  you 
would  come  and  see  him,  he's  dreadful  anxious — dreadful, 
dreadful  anxious.  I  think  it's  jest  some'ut  on  his  mind  ;  ef 
he  could  tell  it,  I  believe  as  he'd  die  easy.  Oh !  my  beauti 
ful,  dear  young  lady,  every  one  has  a  good  word  for  you. 
Oh  !  I  was  going  to  make  bold  to  come  to  Prince's  Gate,  and 
ask  you  to  come  to  see  him.  You'll  never  be  sorry,  miss, 
if  you  can  help  a  poor  soul  to  die  easy." 

"  You  say  he  is  really  dying  ?  "  said  Charlotte. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  indeed,  miss ;  he  never  held  up  his  head 
since  he  saw  the  inside  of  the  prison.  He's  dying  now  of  a 
galloping  waste,  so  the  doctors  say.  Oh  !  Miss  Harman, 
I'll  bless  you  for  ever  if  you'll  come  and  see  him." 

"  Yes,  I  will  come,"  said  Charlotte.  "  Where  do  you 
live  ? " 

"  Away  over  at  Poplar,  miss.  Poor  place  enough,  and 
unfit  for  one  like  you,  but  I'll  come  and  fetch  you  my  own 
self,  and  not  a  pin's  worth  of  harm  shall  come  to  you ;  you 
need  have  no  cause  to  fear.  When  shall  I  come  for  you,  my 
dear,  dear  young  lady  ?  " 

"  The  man  is  dying,  you  say,"  said  Charlotte.  "  Death 
doesn't  wait  for  our  convenience  ;  I  will  come  with  you 
now.  My  carriage  is  waiting  quite  near,  l^must  go  and  give 
directions  to  the  coachman  :  you  can  come  with  me  :  I  will 
then  get  a  cab  and  drive  to  see  your  husband." 

After  this  the  two  women — the  rich  and  the  poor — 
walked  on  -side  by  side,  quickly  and  in  silence.  The  heart 
of  the  one  was  dry  and  parched  with  the  sudden  fire  of  that 
anguish  and  shame,  the  heart  of  the  other  was  so  soothed,  so 
thankful,  that  soft  tears  came,  to  be  wiped  stealthily  away. 

"Ain't  she  an  angel?"  she  sai-d  to  herself,  knowing 
nothing,  guessing  less,  of  the  storm  which  raged  within  her 
companion's  soul ;  "  and  won't  my  poor  Dan  die  easy  now  ?  " 


160  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND 

CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

AN   OLD   WEDDING-RING. 

ONCE  in  Charlotte's  life  before  now,  she  had  remembered 
her  father  doing  what  she  considered  a  strangely  hard  thing. 
A  valet  in  whom  he  had  always  reposed  full  confidence  had 
robbed  him  of  one  hundred  pounds.  He  had  broken  open 
his  master's  desk  at  night  and  taken  from  thence  notes  to 
that  amount.  The  deed  had  been  clumsily  done,  and  detec 
tion  was  very  easy.  The  name  of  this  valet  was  Wright.  He 
was  young  and  good-looking,  and  had  been  lately  married  ; 
hitherto  he  had  been  considered  all  that  was  respectable. 
When  his  crime  was  brought  home  to  him,  he  flew  to  seek 
Charlotte,  then  a  very  young  girl ;  he  flung  himself  on  his 
knees  in  her  presence,  and  begged  of  her  to  ask  her  father 
to  show  mercy  to  him.  Scarcely  half  a  dozen  words  of 
passionate,  terrified  entreaty  had  passed  his  trembling  lips, 
before  there  came  a  tap  at  the  door  and  the  young  wife 
rushed  in  to  kneel  by  his  side.  Together  they  implored ; 
their  words  were  poor  and  halting,  but  the  agony  of  their 
great  plea  for  mercy  went  straight  to  the  young  generous 
heart  they  asked  to  intercede  for  them.  Charlotte  promised 
to  do  what  she  could.  She  promised  eagerly,  with  hope  in 
her  tones. 

Never  afterwards  did  she  forget  that  day.     Long  indeed 

did  the  faces  of  those  two  continue  to  haunt  her,  for  she  had 

!sed  in  vain;  her  father  was  obdurate  to  all  her  en- 

:  even  her  tears,  and  she  had  cried  passionately,  had 

failed  to  move  him.     Nothing  should  save  Wright  from  the 

full  penalty  of  his  crime.     He  was  arrested,  convicted,  and 

sent  to  prison. 

From  that  moment  the  Harmans  lost  sight  of  the  couple. 
Charlotte  had  tried,  it  is  true,  to  befriend  Hester  Wright,  but 
the  young  woman  with  some  pride  had  refused  all  assistance 
from  those  whom  she  considered  strangely  hard  and  cruel. 
It  was  some  years  now  since  anything  had  been  heard  of 
either  of  them.  Charlotte,  it  is  true,  had  not  forgotten  them, 
but  she  had  put  them  into  a  back  part  of  her  memory, 
for  her  father's  conduct  with  regard  to  Wright  had  always 
been  a  sore  puzzle  to  her.  And  now,  on  this  clay  of  all  days, 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  x6i 

she  was  driving  in  a  cab  by  the  side  of  Hester  Wright  to  see 
her  dying  husband.  She  had  sent  a  message  home  by  the 
coachman  which  would  allay  all  immediate  anxiety  on  her 
account,  and  she  sat  back  in  the  cab  by  the  side  of  the  poor' 
and  sad  woman  with  a  sense  of  almost  relief,  for  the  pres 
ent.  For  an  hour  or  t\vo  she  had  something  outside  of  her 
self  and  her  home  to  turn  her  thoughts  to.  After  what 
seemed  a  very  long  drive,  they  reached  the  shabby  court  and 
shabbier  house  where  the  Wrights  lived. 

Charlotte  had  heard  of  such  places  before,  but  had  never 
visited  them.  Shabby  women,  and  dirty  and  squalid  chil 
dren  surrounded  the  young  lady  as  she  descended  to  the 
pavement.  The  children  came  very  close  indeed,  and  some 
even  stroked  her  dress.  One  mite  of  three  years  raised,  in 
the  midst  of  its  dirt  and  neglect,  a  face  of  such  sweetness 
and  innocence,  that  Charlotte  suddenly  stooped  down  and 
kissed  it.  That  kiss,  though  it  left  a  grimy  mark  on  her  lips, 
yet  gave  the  first  faint  touch  of  consolation  to  her  sorely 
bruised  heart.  There  was  something  good  still  left  on  God's 
earth,  and  she  had  come  to  this  slum,  in  the  East  end  of 
London,  to  see  it  shine  in  a  baby's  eyes. 

"  Ef  you  please,  Miss,  I  think  we  had  better  keep  the 
cab,"  said  Hester  Wright ;  "I  don't  think  there's  any  cab 
stand,  not  a  long  way  from  yere." 

Charlotte  spoke  to  the  cabby,  desired  him  to  wait,  then 
she  followed  Hester  into  the  house. 

"  No,  I  have  no  children,"  said  the  woman  in  answer  to 
a  question  of  the  young  lady's ;  "  thank  God  fur  that ;  who'd 
want  to  have  young  'uns  in  a  hole  like  this  ? " 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  their  destination.  It  was 
a  cellar;  Hester  was  not  so  very  far  wrong  in  calling  it  a 
hole.  It  was  damp,  dirty,  and  ill-smelling,  even  to  the 
woman  uho  was  accustomed  to  it ;  to  Charlotte  it  was  hor 
rible  beyond  words.  For  a  time,  the  light  was  so  faint  she 
could  distinguish  nothing,  then  on  some  straw  in  a  corner 
she  saw  a  man.  He  was  shrunken,  and  wasted,  and  dying, 
and  Charlotte,  prepared  as  she  was  for  a  great  change, 
could  ne/er  have  recognized  him.  His  wife,  taking  Char 
lotte's  hand  in  hers,  led  her  forward  at  once. 

"  You'd  never  ha'  guessed,  Dan,  as  I'd  have  so  much 
luck,"  she  said.  "  I  met  our  young  lady  in  the  street,  and 
I  made  bold  to  'ax  her  and  come  and  see  you,  and  she  come 
off  at  once.  This  is  our  Miss  Harman,  Dan  dear." 


161  nOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

"  Our  Miss  Harman  > "  repeated  the  dying  man,  raising 
his  dim  eyes.  "  She's  changed  a  goodish  bit." 

"  Don't  call  me  yours,"  said  Charlotte.  "  I  never  did 
anything  for  you." 

"  Ay,  but  you  tried,"  said  the  wife.  "  Dan  and  me  don't 
furget  as  we  heerd  you  cryin'  fit  to  break  yer  heart  outside 
the  study  door,  and  him  within,  wid  a  heart  as  hard  as  a 
nether  mill-stone,  would  do  nought.  No,  you  did  yer  werry 
best ;  Dan  and  me,  we  don't  furget." 

"  No,  I  don't  furget,"  said  the  man.  "  It  wor  a  pity  as 
the  old  man  were  so  werry  'ard.  I  wor  young  and  I  did  it 
rare  and  clumsy ;  it  wor  to  pay  a.  debt,  a  big,  big  debt.  I  'ad 
put  my  'and  to  a  bit  of  paper  widhout  knowing  wot  it  meant, 
and  I  wor  made  to  pay  fot  it,  and  the  notes  they  seemed  real 
'andy.  Well,  well,  I  did  it  badly,  I  ha'  larnt  the  right  way 
since  from  some  prison  pals.  I  would  not  be  found  out  so 
easy  now." 

He  spoke  in  an  indifferent,  drawling  kind  of  voice,  which 
expressed  no  emotion  whatever. 

"  You  are  very  ill,  I  fear,"  said  Charlotte,  kneeling  by  his 
side. 

"  111 !  I'm  dying,  miss  dear." 

Charlotte  had  never  seen  death  before.  She  noticed  now 
the  queer  shade  of  grey  in  the  complexion,  the  short  and 
labored  breath.  She  felt  puzzled  by  these  signs,  for  though 
she  had  never  seen  death,  this  grayness,  this  shortness  of 
breath,  were  scarcely  unfamiliar. 

"  I'm  dying,"  continued  the  man.  "  I  don't  much  care ; 
weren't  it  fur  Hetty  there,  I'd  be  rayther  glad.  I  never  'ad 
a  chance  since  the  old  master  sent  me  to  prison.  I'd  ha'  lived 
respectable  enough  ef  the  old  master  'ad  bin  merciful  that 
time.  But  once  in  prison,  always  in  prison  fur  a  friendless 
chap  like  me.  I  never  wanted  to  steal  agen,  but  I  jest  'ad 
to,  to  keep  the  life  in  me.  I  could  get  no  honest  work  hany- 
where ;  then  at  last  I  took  cold,  and  it  settled  yere,"  point 
ing  to  his  sunken  chest,  "  and  I'm  going  off,  sure  as  sure  ! " 

"  He  ain't  like  to  live  another  twenty-four  hours,  so  the 
doctor  do  say,"  interrupted  thj  wife. 

"  No,  that's  jest  it.  Yesterday  a  parson  called.  I  used 
ter  see  the  jail  chaplain,  and  I  never  could  abide  him,  but  this 
man,  he  did  speak  hup  and  to  the  point.  He  said  as  it  wor 
a  hawful  thing  to  die  unforgiven.  He  said  it  over  and 
over,  until  I  wor  fain  to  ax  him  wot  I  could  do  to  get  fur- 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  163 

given,  fur  he  did  say  it  wor  an  hawful  thing  to  die  without 
having  parding." 

"  Oh,  it  must  be,  it  must  be  !  "  said  Chartlotte,  suddenly 
clasping  her  hands  very  tightly  together. 

"  I  axed  him  how  I  could  get  it  from  God  h' Almighty, 
and  he  told  me,  to  tell  him,  the  parson,  first  of  all  my  whole 
story,  and  then  he  could  adwise  me  ;  so  I  hup  and  telled  him 
heverything,  hall  about  that  theft  as  first  tuk  me  to  prison 
and  ruined  me,  and  how  'ard  the  old  master  wor,  and  I  telled 
him  another  thing  too,  for  he  'ad  sech  a  way,  he  seemed  to 
drawyer  werry  'art  out  of  you.  Then  he  axed  me  ef  I'd  fur- 
given  the  old  master,  and  I  said  no,  fur  he  wor  real,  real  'ard  ; 
then  he  said  so  solemn-like,  '  That's  a  great,  great  pity,  fur 
I'm  afraid  as  God  can't  furgive  you,  till  you  furgives.'  Arter 
that  he  said  a  few  more  words,  and  prayed  awhile,  and  then 
he  went  away.  I  could  not  sleep  hall  night,  and  to-day  I 
called  Hetty  there,  over,  and  she  said  as  she'd  do  her  werry 
best  to  bring  eittter  the  old  master  yere,  or  you  miss,  and 
you  see  you  are  come  ;  'tis  an  awful  thing  to  die  without  par- 
ding,  that's  why  I  axed  you  to  come." 

"  Yes,"  said  Charlotte  very  softly. 

"  Please,  miss,  may  a  poor  dying  feller,  though  he  ain't  no 
better  nor  a  common,  common  thief,  may  he  grip,  'old  of  yer 
and  ? " 

"  With  all  my  heart." 

"  There  now,  it  don't  seem  so  werry  'ard.  Lord  Jesus, 
I  fur  gives  Mr.  Harman.  Now  I  ha'  said  it.  Wife  dear,  bring 
me  hover  that  little  box,  that  as  I  allers  kep'  so  close." 

His  wife  brought  him  a  tiny  and  very  dirty  cardboard 
box. 

"  She  kep'  it  when  I  wor  locked  up  ;  I  allers  call  it  my  bit 
o'  revenge.  I'll  give  it  back  now.  Hetty,  open  it." 

Hetty  did  so,  taking  from  under  a  tiny  bit  of  cotton-wool 
a  worn,  old-fashioned  wedding-ring. 

"  There,  miss  dear,"  said  Wright,  handing  it  to  her,  "  that 
wor  the  old  master's  wife's  ring.  I  knew  as  he  set  more 
prize  to  it  nor  heverything  else  he  had,  he  used  to  wear  it 
on  a  bit  of  ribbon  round  his  neck.  One  day  he  did  not  put 
it  on,  he  furgot  it,  and  I,  when  I  found  he  meant  to  be  so 
werry,  werry  'ard,  I  took  it  and  hid  it,  and  took  it  away  wid 
me.  It  comforted  me  when  I  \vor  so  long  in  prison  to  think 
as  he  might  be  fretting  fur  it,  and  never  guess  as  the  lad  he 
were  so  'ard  on  had  it.  I  never  would  sell  it,  and  now  as  I 
has  furgiven  him,  he  may  have  it  back  agen.  You  tell  him 


!64  HOW 'IT  ALL  CAME  ROUXD. 

arter  I'm  dead,  tell  him  as  I  furgives  him,  and  yere's  the  ring 
back  agen." 

Charlotte  slipped  the  worn  little  trinket  on  her  finger. 

"  I  will  try  and  give  my  father  your  message,"  she  said. 
"  I  may  not  be  able  at  once,  but  I  will  try.  I  am  glad  you 
have  forgiven  him ;  we  all  stand  in  sore,  sore  need  of  that, 
not  only  from  our  fellow-men,  but  much  more  from  our  God. 
Now  good-bye,  I  will  come  again."  She  held  out  her  hand. 

"  Ah,  but  miss  dear,  I  won't  be  yere  fur  no  coming  again, 
I'll  be  far  away.  Hetty  knows  that,  poor,  poor,  gal  !  Hetty'll 
miss  me,  but  only  fur  that  I  could  be  real  glad,  fur  now  as  I 
ha'  furgiven  the  old  master,  I  feels  real  heasy.  I  ain't  noth 
ing  better  nor  a  common  thief,  but  fur  hall  that,  I  think  as 
Jesus  'ull  make  a  place  for  me  somehow  nigh  of  hisself." 

"  And,  miss,"  said  Hester,  "  I'm  real  sorry,  and  so  will 
Dan  be  when  I  tell  him  how  bad  the  old  master  is." 

"  My  father  is  not  well ;  but  how  do  you  know  ? "  said 
Charlotte. 

"  Well,  miss,  I  went  to  the  house  to-day,  a-looking  fur  you 
and  the  servant  she  told  me,  she  said  as  there  worn't  never 
a  hope,  as  the  old  master  were  safe  to  die." 

"  Then  maybe  I  can  tell  himself  hup  in  heaven  as  I  quite 
furgives  him,"  said  Dan  Wright. 

Charlotte  glanced  from  one  speaker  to  the  other  in  a  kind 
of  terrible  astonishment.  Suddenly  she  knew  on  whose  brow 
she  had  seen  that  awful  grayness,  from  whose  lips  she  had 
heard  that  short  and  hurried  breath.  A  kind  of  spasm  of 
great  agony  suddenly  contracted  her  heart.  Without  a  word, 
however,  she  rose  to  her  feet,  gave  the  wife  money  for  her 
present  needs,  bade  the  dying  husband  good-bye,  and  stepped 
into  the  cab  which  still  waited  for  her.  It  was  really  late,  and 
all  daylight  had  faded  as  she  gave  the  direction  for  her  own 
luxurious  home. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

THREE     FACTS. 

DINNER  was  more  than  half  over  when  she  reached 
Prince's  Gate.  She  was  glad  of  this.  She  went  straight  up 
to  her  own  room  and  sent  for  her  maid. 

"Ward,  I  am  very  tired  and  not  very   well.     I  shall  not 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  ^5 

go  down  again  to-night,  nor  do  I  wish  to  see  any  one.  Please 
bring  up  a  cup  of  strong  tea  here,  and  a  little  dry  toast,  and 
then  you  may  leave  me.  I  shall  not  want  you  again  to 
night." 

"  You  won't  see  Mr.  Harman  again  to-night,  miss.  Am 
I  to  take  him  that  message  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  say  that  I  have  a  headache  and  think  I  had  bet 
ter  stay  quiet.  I  will  be  down  to  breakfast  as  usual." 

Ward  went  away,  to  return  in  a  few  moments  with  the 
tea  and  toast. 

"  If  you  please,  Miss  Harman,  they  have  just  sent  the 

wedding  dress  and  veil  from .  Are  you  too  tired  to  be 

fitted  to-night  ? " 

Charlotte  gave  a  little  involuntary  shudder. 

"  Yes,  I  am  much  too  tired,"  she  said  ;  "  put  everything 
away,- 1  do  not  want  even  to  look  at  them.  Thank  you, 
Ward,  this  tea  looks  nice.  Now  you  need  not  come  in 
again.  Goodnight." 

"  Good  night,  Miss  Harman,"  said  the  maid,  going  softly 
to  the  door  and  closing  it  behind  her. 

Charlotte  got  up  at  once  and  turned  the  key.  Now,  at 
last,  thank  God,  she  was  quite  alone.  She  threw  off  her 
bonnet  and  cloak  and  going  straight  to  her  bed  flung  herself 
upon  it.  In  this  position  she  lay  still  for  over  an  hour.  The 
strong  tension  she  had  put  on  herself  gave  way  during  that 
hour,  for  she  groaned  often  and  heavily,  though  tears  were 
very  far  from  her  eyes.  At  the  end  of  about  an  hour  she 
got  up,  bathed  her  face  and  hands  in  cold  water,  drank  a 
cup  of  tea,  and  put  some  coals  on  a  fire  in  the  grate.  She 
then  pulled  out  her  watch.  Yes  ;  she  gave  a  sigh  of  relief — 
it  was  not  yet  ten  o'clock,  she  had  the  best  part  of  twelve 
hours  before  her  in  which  to  prepare  to  meet  her  father  at 
breakfast.  In  these  hours  she  must  think,  she  must  resolve, 
she  must  prepare  herself  for  action.  She  sat  down  opposite 
the  little  cheerful  fire  which,  warm  though  the  night  was,  was 
grateful  to  her  in  her  chilled  state  of  mind  and  body.  Look 
ing  into  its  light  she  allowed  thought  to  have  full  dominion 
over  her.  Hitherto,  from  the  moment  she  had  read  those 
words  in  her  grandfather's  will  until  this  present  moment, 
she  had  kept  thought  back.  In  the  numbness  which  im 
mediately  followed  the  first  shock,  this  was  not  so  difficult. 
She  had  heard  all  Sandy  Wilson's  words,  but  had  only  dimly 
followed  out  their  meaning.  He  wanted  to  meet  her  on  the 
morrow.  She  had  promised  to  meet  him,  as  she  would  have 


1 66  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

promised  also  to  do  anything  else,  however  preposterous,  at 
that  moment.  Then  she  had  felt  a  desire,  more  from  the 
force  of  habit  than  from  any  stronger  motive,  to  go  home. 
She  had  been  met  by  Hester  Wright,  and  Hester  had  taken 
her  to  see  her  dying  husband.  She  had  stood  by  the  death 
bed  and  looked  into  the  dim  and  terrible  eyes  of  death,  and 
felt  as  though  a  horrible  nightmare  was  oppressing  her,  and 
then  at  last  she  had  got  away,  and  at  last,  at  last  she  was  at 
home.  The  luxuries  of  her  own  refined  and  beautiful  home 
surrounded  her.  She  was  seated  in  the  room  where  she  had 
slept  as  a  baby,  as  a  child,  as  a  girl ;  and  now,  now  she  must 
wake  from  this  semi-dream,  she  must  rouse  herself,  she 
must  think  it  out.  Hinton  was  right  in  saying  that  in  a 
time  of  great  trouble  a  very  noble  part  of  Charlotte  v 
awake  ;  that  in  deep  waters  such  a  nature  as  hers  would  ri.-.e, 
not  sink.  It  was  awakening  now,  and  putting  forth  its  young 
wings,  though  its  birth-throes  were  causing  agony.  "  I  wiU 
look  the  facts  boldly  in  the  face,"  she  said  once  aloud, 
"even  my  own  heart  shall  not  accuse  me  of  cowardice." 
There  were  three  facts  confronting  this  young  woman,  and 
one  seemed  nearly  as  terrible  as  the  other.  First,  her  father 
was  guilty.  During  almost  all  the  years  of  her  life  he  had 
been  not  an  honorable,  but  a  base  man ;  he  had,  to  enrich 
himself,  robbed  the  widow  and  the  fatherless  ;  he  had  grown 
wealthy  on  their  poverty  ;  he  had  left  them  to  suffer,  perhaps 
to  die.  The  will  which  he  had  thought  would  never  be  read 
was  there  to  prove  his  treachery.  Believing  that  his  fellow- 
trustee  was  dead,  he  had  betrayed  his  sacred  trust.  Char 
lotte  could  scarcely  imagine  a  darker  crime.  Her  father, 
who  looked  so  noble,  who  was  so  tender  and  good  to  her, 
who  bore  so  high  a  character  in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  was  a 
very  bad  man.  This  was  her  first  fact.  Her  second  seemed, 
just  because  of  the  first,  even  a  shade  darker.  This  fatht  : . 
whom  she  had  loved,  this  poor,  broken-down,  guilty  fathc  . 
who,  like  a  broken  idol,  had  fallen  from  his  high  estate  in 
her  heart,  was  dying.  Ah  !  she  knew  it  now  ;  that  look  on 
his  old  face  could  only  belong  to  the  dying.  How  blind  she 
had  been  !  how  ignorant !  But  the  Wrights'  words  had  torn 
the  veil  from  her  eyes;  the  guilty  man  was  going  fast  to 
judgment.  The  God  whom  he  had  sinned  against  was  about 
to  demand  retribution.  Now  she  read  the  key  to  his  unhap- 
piness,  his  despair.  No  wonder,  no  wonder,  that  like  a  can 
ker  it  had  eaten  into  his  heart.  Her  father  was  certainly 
)'_T :  God  himself  \vis  taking  his  punishment  into  His  own 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  !6y 

hands.  Charlotte's  third  fact,  though  the  most  absolutely 
personal  of  the  whole,  scarcely  tortured  her  as  the  other  two 
did  to-night.  It  lay  so  clearly  and  so  directly  in  her  path, 
that  there  was  no  pausing  how  best  to  act.  The  way  for  ac 
tion  was  too  clear  to  be  even  for  an  instant  disobeyed.  Into 
this  fire  she  must  walk  without  hesitation  or  pause.  Her 
wedding-day  could  not  be  on  the  twentieth ;  her  engage 
ment  must  be  broken  off  ;  her  marriage  at  an  end.  What ! 
she,  the  daughter  of  a  thief,  ally  herself  to  an  upright,  honor 
able  man  !  Never !  never  !  Whatever  the  consequences 
and  the  pain  to  either,  Hinton  and  she  must  part.  She  did 
not  yet  know  how  this  parting  would  be  effected.  She  did 
not  know  whether  she  would  say  farewell  to  her  lover  telling 
him  all  the  terrible  and  bitter  disgrace,  or  with  a  poor  and 
lame  excuse  on  her  lips.  But  however  she  did  it,  the  thing 
must  be  done.  Never,  never,  never  would  she  drag  the  man 
she  loved  down  into  her  depths  of  shame. 

To-night  she  scarcely  felt  the  full  pain  of  this.  It  was 
almost  a  relief,  in  the  midst  of  all  the  chaos,  to  have  this 
settled  line  of  action  around  which  no  doubt  must  linger. 
Yes,  she  would  instantly  break  off  her  engagement.  Now 
she  turned  her  thoughts  to  her  two  former  facts.  Her  father 
was  guilty.  Her  father  was  dying.  She,  in  an  underhand 
way,  for  which  even  now  she  hated  herself  had  discovered 
her  father's  long-buried  crime.  But  she  had  not  alone  dis 
covered  it.  Another  had  also  gone  to  see  that  will  in. 
Somerset  House  ;  another  with  eyes  far  more  practised  than 
hers  had  read  those  fatal  words.  And  that  other,  he  could 
act.  He  would  act ;  he  would  expose  the  guilty  and  dying 
old  man,  for  he  was  the  other  trustee. 

Charlotte  was  very  ignorant  as  to  how  the  law  would  act 
with  regard  to  such  a  crime  as  her  father's.  Doubt 
less  there  would  be  a  public  trial,  a  public  disgrace.  He 
would  be  dragged  into  the  prisoner's  dock  ;  his  old  white 
head  would  be  bowed  low  there,  and  he  was  a  dying  man. 

In  the  first  shock  and  horror  of  finding  that  the  father 
she  had  always  almost  worshipped  could  be  guilty  of  such  a 
terrible  crime,  a  great  rush  of  anger  and  almost  hardness 
had  steeled  her  heart  against  him  ;  but  now  tenderer  feelings 
came  back.  Pity,  sad-eyed  and  gentle,  knocked  at  her 
heart,  and  when  she  let  in  pity,  love  quickly  resumed  its 
throne.  Yes  ;  whatever  his  crime,  whatever  his  former  life, 
she  loved  that  old  man.  That  white-headed,  broken-hearted 
man,  so  close  to  the  grave,  was  her  father,  and  she  his  only 


T68  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROU.\1>. 

child.  When  she  spoke  to  Sandy  Wilson  to-day  she  had 
felt  no  desire  to  save  the  guilty  from  his  rightful  fate.  But 
now  her  feelings  were  different.  A  great  cry  arose  in  her 
heart  on  his  behalf.  Coulcl  she  screen  him  ?  could  she 
screen  him  from  his  fate  ?  In  her  agony  she  rose  and  flung 
herself  on  her  knees.  "  My  God,  help  me  ;  my  God,  don't 
forsake  me ;  save  mv  father.  Save  him,  save  him,  save 
him." 

She  felt  a  little  calmer  after  this  broken  prayer,  and 
something  to7  do  occurred  to  her  with  its  instant  power  of 
tranquillizing.  She  would  find  out  the  doctor  whom  her 
father  consulted.  She  would  ask  Uncle  Jasper.  She  would 
make  him  tell  her,  and  she  would  visit  this  man  early  in  the 
morning,  and,  whatever  the  consequence,  learn  the  exact 
truth  from  his  lips.  It  would  help  her  in  her  interview  later 
on  with  Mr.  Wilson.  Beyond  this  little  immediate  course  of 
action,  there  was  no  light  whatever;  but  she  felt  so  far 
calmed,  that,  about  two  o'clock,  she  lay  down  and  sleep  came 
to  her — healthy  and  dreamless  sleep,  which  was  sent  direct 
from  God  to  put  strength  into  the  brave  heart,  to  enable  it 
to  suffer  and  endure.  Many  weeks  before  Mr.  Home  had 
said  to  Charlotte  Harman,  "You  must  keep  the  Christ 
bright  within  you."  Was  His  likeness  to  shine  henceforth 
through  all  the  rest  of  her  life,  in  those  frank  eyes,  that  sweet 
face,  that  noble  woman's  heart,  because  of  and  through  that 
great  tribulation.  We  have  heard  tell  of  the  white  robes 
which  they  wear  who  go  through  it.  Is  it  not  worth  while 
for  so  sacred  a  result  to  heat  the  furnace  seven  times  ? 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 
THE  DOCTOR'S  VERDICT. 

IN  her  terrible  anger  and  despair  Charlotte  had  almost 
forgotten  Uncle  Jasper;  but  when  she  came  down  to  break 
fast  the  following  morning  and  saw  him  there,  for  he  had 
come  to  Prince's  Gate  early,  and  was  standing  with  her  father 
on  the  hearthrug,  she  suddenly  remembered  that  he  too 
must  have  been  guilty ;  nay,  worse,  her  father  had  never 
tried  to  deceive  her,  and  Uncle  Jasper  had.  She  remem- 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  169 

bered  the  lame  story  he  had  told  her  about  Mrs.  Plome  ; 
how  fully  she  had  believed  that  story,  and  how  it  had  com 
forted  her  heart  at  the  time  !  Now  she  saw  clearly  its  many 
flaws,  and  wondered  at  her  own  blindness.  Charlotte  had 
always  been  considered  an  open  creature — one  so  frank,  so 
ingenuous,  that  her  secrets,  had  she  ever  tried  to  have  any, 
might  be  read  like  an  open  book ;  but  last  night  she  had 
learned  to  dissemble.  She  was  glad  when  she  entered  the 
cheerful  breakfast-room  to  find  that  she  was  able  to  put  her 
hardly  learned  lesson  in  practice.  Knowing  what  she  did, 
she  could  yet  go  up  and  kiss  her  father,  and  allow  her  uncle 
to  put  his  lips  to  her  cheek.  She  certainly  looked  badly,  but 
that  was  accounted  for  by  the  headache  which  she  confessed 
still  troubled  her.  She  sat  down  opposite  the  tea-urn,  and 
breakfast  was  got  through  in  such  a  manner  that  Mr.  Har- 
man  noticed  nothing  particular  to  be  wrong.  He  always 
drove  to  the  City  now  in  his  own  private  carriage,  and  after 
he  had  gone  Charlotte  turned  to  Jasper. 

" Uncle  Jasper,"  she  said,  "you  have  deceived  me." 

"  Good  heavens  !  how,  Charlotte  ?  "  said  the  old  uncle. 

"  My  father  is  very  ill.  You  have  given  me  to  under 
stand  that  there  was  nothing  of  serious  consequence  the  mat 
ter  with  him." 

Uncle  Jasper  heaved  a  slight  but  still  audible  sigh  of  re 
lief.  Was  this  all  ?  These  fears  he  might  even  yet  quiet. 

"  I  have  not  deceived  you,  Charlotte,"  he  said,  "  for  I  do 
not  believe  your  father  to  be  seriously  ill." 

He  fixed  his  keen  gray  eyes  on  her  face  as  he  spoke.  She 
returned  his  gaze  without  shrinking. 

"  Still  you  do  think  him  ill  ? "  she  said. 

"  Well,  any  one  to  look  at  him  must  admit  that  he  is  not 
what  he  was." 

"Just  so,  Uncle  Jasper.  So  you  have  told  me  very  many 
times,  when  you  have  feared  my  troubling  him  on  certain 
matters.  Now  it  has  come  to  me  from  another  source  that 
he  is  very  ill.  My  eyes  have  been  opened,  and  I  see  the 
fact  myself.  I  wish  to  learn  the  simple  and  exact  truth.  I 
wish  to  see  the  doctor  he  has  consulted." 

"  How  do  you  know  he  has  consulted  any  ?  " 

"  Has  he  ?  " 

Uncle  Jasper  was  silent  for  a  moment.  He  felt  in  a  diffi 
culty.  Did  Charlotte  know  the  worst,  she  might  postpone 
her  marriage,  the  last  thing  to  be  desired  just  now ;  and  yet 
where  had  she  got  her  information  ?  It  was  awkward 


170 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


enough,  though  he  felt  a  certain  sense  of  relief  in  thus  ac 
counting  for  the  change  in  her  appearance  since  yesterday 
morning.  He  got  up  and  approached  her  side  softly. 

"  My  dear,  I  do  own  that  your  father  is  ill.  I  own,  too, 
that  I  have,  by  his  most  express  wish,  made  as  light  of  the 
matter  to  you  as  I  could.  The  fact  is,  Charlotte,  he  is 
anxious,  very  anxious,  about  himself.  He  thinks  himself 
much  worse  than  I  believe  him  to  be  ;  but  his  strongest  de 
sire  is,  that  now,  on  the  eve  of  your  marriage,  you  should  not 
be  alarmed  on  his  account.  I  firmly  believe  you  have  no 
cause  for  any  special  fear.  Ought  you  not  to  respect  his 
wishes,  and  rest  satisfied  without  seeking  to  know  more  than 
he  and  I  tell  you  ?  I  will  swear,  Charlotte,  if  that  is  any 
consolation  to  you,  that  I  am  not  immediately  anxious  about 
your  father." 

"  You  need  not  swear,  Uncle  Jasper.  Your  not  being 
anxious  does  not  prevent  my  being  so.  I  am  determined  to 
find  out  the  exact  truth.  If  he  thinks  himself  very  ill  he 
has,  of  course,  consulted  some  medical  man.  If  you  will  not 
tell  me  his  name  I  will  myself  ask  my  father  to  do  so  to 
night." 

"  By  so  doing  you  will  shock  him,  and  the  doctor  does  not 
wish  him  to  be  shocked." 

"  Just  so,  Uncle  Jasper,  and  you  can  spare  him  that  by 
telling  me  what  you  know." 

"  My  dear  niece,  if  you  will  have  it  ? " 

"  I  certainly  am  quite  resolved,  uncle." 

"  Well,  well,  you  approach  this  subject  at  your  peril.  If 
you  must  see  the  doctor  you  must.  Wilful  woman  over 
again.  Would  you  like  me  to  go  with  you  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you ;  I  prefer  to  go  alone.  What  is  the 
doctor's  name  ? " 

"  Sir  George  Anderson,  of  B Street." 

"  I  will  go  to  him  at  once,"  said  Charlotte. 

She  left  the  room  instantly,  though  she  heard  her  uncle 
calling  her  back.  Yes,  she  would  go  to  Sir  George  at  once. 
She  pulled  out  her  watch,  ran  upstairs,  put  on  some  out-door 
dress,  and  in  ten  minutes  from  the  time  she  had  learned  the 
name^of  the  great  physician  was  in  a  hansom  driving  to  his 
house.  This  rapid  action  was  a  relief  to  her.  Presently  she 
arrived  at  her  destination.  Yes,  the  doctor  was  at  home. 
He  was  engaged  for  the  present  with  another  patient,  but  if 
Charlotte  liked  to  wait  he  would  see  her  in  her  turn.  Cer 
tainly  she  would  wait.  She  gave  her  card  to  the  man  who 


HO  W  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  1 7  x 

admitted  her,  and  was  shown  into  a  room,  very  dark  and  dis 
mal,  where  three  or  four  patients  were  already  enduring  a 
time  of  suspense  waiting  for  their  interviews.  Charlotte, 
knowing  nothing  of  illness,  knew,  if  possible,  still  less  of 
doctors'  rooms.  A  sense  of  added  depression  came  over  her 
as  she  seated  herself  on  the  nearest  chair,  and  glanced,  from 
the  weary  and  suffering  faces  of  those  who  waited  anxiously 
for  their  doom,  to  the  periodicals  and  newspapers  piled  on 
the  table.  A  gentleman  seated  not  far  off  handed  her  the 
last  number  of  the  Illustrated  London  News.  She  took  it, 
turning  the  pages  mechanically.  To  her  dying  day  she  never 
got  over  the  dislike  to  that  special  paper  which  that  half  hour 
created. 

One  by  one  the  patients'  names  were  called  by  the  grave 
footman  as  he  came  to  summon  them.  One  by  one  they 
went  away,  and  at  last,  at  last,  Charlotte's  turn  came.  She 
had  entered  into  conversation  with  a  little  girl  of  about  six 
teen,  who  appeared  to  be  in  consumption,  and  the  little  girl 
had  praised  the  great  physician  in  such  terms  that  Charlotte 
felt  more  than  ever  that  against  his  opinion  there  could  be 
no  appeal.  And  now  at  last  she  was  in  the  great  man's 
presence,  and,  healthy  girl  that  she  was,  her  heart  beat  so 
loud,  and  her  face  grew  so  white,  that  the  practised  eyes  of 
the  doctor  might  have  been  pardoned  for  mistaking  her  for 
a  bona-fide  patient. 

"  What  are  you  suffering  from  ?  "  he  asked  of  her. 

"  It  is  not  myself,  Sir  George,"  she  said,  then  making  a 
great  effort  to  control  her  voice — "  I  have  come  about  my 
father — my  father  is  one  of  your  patients.  His  name  is 
Harman." 

Sir  George  turned  to  a  large  book  at  his  side,  opened  it 
at  a  certain  page,  read  quietly  for  a  moment,  then  closing  it, 
fixed  his  keen  eyes  on  the  young  lady. 

"You  are  right,"  he  said,  "  your  father,  Mr.  Harman,  is 
one  of  my  patients.  He  came  to  see  me  no  later  than  last 
week." 

"  Sir,"  said  Charlotte,  and  her  voice  grew  steadier  and 
braver  as  she  spoke,  "  I  am  in  perfect  health,  and  my  father 
is  ill.  I  have  come  here  to-day  to  learn  from  your  lips  the 
exact  truth  as  to  his  case." 

"  The  exact  truth  ?  "  said  the  doctor.  "  Does  your  father 
know  you  have  come  here,  Miss — Miss  Harman  ?  " 

"  He  does  not,  Sir  George.  My  father  is  a  widower,  and 
I  am  his  only  child.  He  has  endeavored  to  keep  this  thing 


I72 


HO  W  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


from  me,  and  hitherto  has  partially  succeeded.  Yesterday, 
through  another  source,  I  learned  that  he  is  very  seriously 
ill.  1  have  come  to  you  to  know  the  truth.  You  will  tell  ft 
to  me,  will  you  not  ?  " 

"  I  certainly  can  tell  it  to  you." 

"  And  you  will  ?  " 

"  Well,  the  fact  is,  Miss  Harman,  he  is  anxious  that  you 
should  not  know.  I  am  scarcely  prepared  to  fathom  your 
strength  of  character.  Any  shock  will  be  of  serious  conse 
quence  to  him.  How  can  I  tell  how  you  will  act  when  you 
know  all  ?  " 

"You  are  preparing  me  for  the  worst  now.  Sir  George.  I 
solemnly  promise  you  in  no  way  to  use  my  knowledge  so  as 
to  give  my  father  the  slightest  shock." 

"  I  believe  you,"  answered  the  doctor.  "A brave  woman 
can  do  wonders.  Women  are  unselfish ;  they  can  hide  their 
own  feelings  to  comfort  and  succor  another.  Miss  Harman, 
I  am  sorry  for  you,  I  have  bad  news  for  you." 

"  I  know  it,  Sir  George.     My  father  is  very  ill." 

"  Your  father  is  as  seriously  ill  as  a  man  can  be  to  be 
alive  ;  in  short,  he  is — dying." 

"  Is  there  no  hope  ? " 

"  None." 

"  Must  he  die  soon  ? "  asked  Charlotte,  after  a  brief 
pause. 

"That  depends.  His  malady  is  of  such  a  nature  that  any 
sudden  shock,  any  sudden  grief  will  probably  kill  him  in 
stantly.  If  his  mind  is  kept  perfectly  calm,  and  all  shocks  are 
kept  from  him,  he  may  live  for  many  months." 

"  Oh !  terrible  !  "  cried  Charlotte. 

She  covered  her  face.  When  she  raised  it  at  last  it 
looked  quite  haggard  and  old. 

"  Sir  George,"  she  said,  "  I  do  not  doubt  that  in  your 
position  as  a  doctor  you  have  come  across  some  secrets.  I 
am  going  to  confide  in  you,  to  confide  in  you  to  a  certain 
measure." 

"  Your  confidence  shall  be  sacred,  my  dear  young  lady." 

"  Yesterday,  Sir  George,  I  learned  something,  something 
which  concerns  my  father.  It  concerns  him  most  nearly  and 
most  painfully.  It  relates  to  an  old  and  buried  wrong.  This 
wrong  relates  to  others  ;  it  relates  to  those  now  living  most 
nearly  and  most  painfully." 

"  Is  it  a  money  matter  ? "  asked  the  doctor. 

"  It  is  a  money  matter.     My  father  alone  can  set  it  right. 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND,  173 

I  mean  that  during  his  lifetime  it  cannot  possibly  im  any  way 
be  set  right  without  his  knowledge.  Almost  all  my  life,  he 
has  kept  this  thing  a  secret  from  me  and — and — from  the 
world.  For  three  and  twenty  years  it  has  lain  in  a  grave.  If 
he  is  told  now,  and  the  wrong  cannot  be  repaired  without 
his  knowledge,  it  will  come  on  him  as  a — disgrace.  The 
question  I  ask  of  you  is  this  :  can  he  bear  the  disgrace  ?  " 

"And  my  answer  to  you,  Miss  Harman,  is,  that  in  his 
state  of  health  the  knowledge  you  speak  of  will  instantly  kill 
him." 

"  Then — then — God  help  me  !  what  am  I  to  do  ?  Can 
the  wrong  never  be  righted  ?  " 

"  My  dear  young  lady,  I  am  sincerely  sorry  for  you.  I 
cannot  enter  into  the  moral  question,  I  can  only  state  a  fact. 
As  your  father's  physician  I  forbid  you  to  tell  him." 

"  You  forbid  me  to  tell  him  ?  "  said  Charlotte.  She  got 
up  and  pulled  down  her  veil.  "  Thank  you,"  she  said,  holding 
out  her  hand.  "  I  have  that  to  go  on — as  my  father's  phy 
sician  you  forbid  him  to  know  ?  " 

"  I  forbid  it  absolutely.  Such  a  knowledge  would  cause 
instant  death." 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

PUZZLED. 

THE  old  Australian  Alexander  Wilson,  had  left  his  niece, 
Charlotte  Home,  after  his  first  interview  with  her,  in  a  very 
disturbed  state  of  mind.  More  disturbed  indeed  was  he 
than  by  the  news  of  his  sister's  death.  He  was  a  rich  man 
now,  having  been  successful  in  the  land  of  his  banishment, 
and  having  returned  to  his  native  land  the  possessor  of  a 
moderate  fortune.  He  had  never  married,  and  he  meant  to 
live  with  Daisy  and  share  his  wealth  with  her.  But  in  these 
day-dreams  he  had  only  thought  of  his  money  as  giving  some 
added  comforts  to  his  rich  little  sister,  enabling  her  to  have  a 
house  in  London  for  the  season,  and,  while  living  in  the 
country,  to  add  more  horses  to  her  establishment  and  more 
conservatories  to  build  and  tend.  His  money  should  add  to 
her  luxuries  and,  consequently,  to  her  comforts.  He  had 


174 


HO  W  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


never  heard  of  this  unforgotten  sister  for  three  and  twenty 
years,  the  strange  dislike  to  write  home  having  grown  upon 
him  as  time  went  on  but  though  he  knew  nothing  about  her, 
he  many  a  time  in  his  own  wild  and  solitary  life  pictured  her  as 
he  saw  her  last.  Daisy  never  grew  old  to  him.  Death  and 
Daisy  were  not  connected.  Daisy  in  his  imagination  was 
always  young,  always  girlish  always  fresh  and  beautiful.  He 
saw  her  as  he  saw  her  last  in  her  beautiful  country  home 
standing  by  her  rich  husband's  side,  looking  more  like  his 
daughter  than  his  wife.  No,  Sandy  never  dreamed  that  Daisy 
would  or  could  die,  but  in  thinking  of  her  he  believed  her  to 
be  a  widow.  That  husband,  so  old,  when  he  went  away, 
must  be  dead. 

On  his  arrival  in  England,  Sandy  went  down  into  Hert- 
fortshire.  He  visited  the  place  where  he  had  last  seen  his 
sister.  It  was  in  the  hands  of  strangers — sold  long  ago.  No 
one  even  remembered  the  name  of  Harman.  Then  he  met 
little  Daisy  Home,  and  learned  quite  by  accident  that  his 
Dai§y  was  dead,  and  that  the  pretty  child  who  reminded  him 
of  her  was  her  grandchild.  He  went  to  visit  Charlotte  Home, 
and  there  made  a  fresh  discovery.  Had  his  Daisy  been  alive 
she  would  have  wanted  far  more  from  his  well-filled  purse 
than  horses  and  .carriages.  She  would  have  needed  not  the 
luxuries  of  life,  but  the  necessities.  He  had  imagined  her 
rich,  while  she  had  died  in  poverty.  She  had  died  poor,  and 
her  child,  her  only  child,  bore  evident  marks  of  having  met 
face  to  face  with  the  sorest  of  all  want,  that  which  attacks 
the  gently  born.  Her  face,  still  young,  but  sadly  thin  and 
worn,  the  very  look  in  her  eyes  told  this  fact  to  Sandy. 

Yes  ;  his  pretty  Daisy,  whom  he  had  imagined  so  rich, 
so  bountifully  provided  for,  had  died  a  very  poor  and  strug 
gling  woman.  Doubtless  this  sad  and  dreadful  fact  had 
shortened  her  days.  Doubtless  but  for  this  monstrous 
injustice  she  would  be  alive  now,  ready  to  welcome  her  long- 
lost  brother  back  to  his  native  land. 

All  that  night  Sandy  Wilson  lay  awake.  He  was  a  hale 
and  hearty  man,  and  seldom  knew  what  it  was  to  toss  for 
any  time  on  his  pillow ;  but  so  shocked  was  he,  that  this 
night  no  repose  would  visit  him.  An  injustice  had  been 
done,  a  fraud  committed,  and  it  remained  for  him  to  find 
out  the  evil  thing,  to  drag  it  to  the  light,  to  set  the  wronged 
right  once  more.  Charlotte  Home  was  not  at  all  the  character 
he  could  best  understand.  She  was  not  in  the  least  like  her 
mother.  She  told  the  tale  of  her  wrongs  with  a  strange  and 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


'75 


manifest  reluctance.  She  believed  that  a  fraud  had  been 
committed.  She  was  fully  persuaded  that  not  her  long-dead 
father  but  her  living  half-brothers  were  the  guilty  parties.  In 
this  belief  Sandy  most  absolutely  shared.  He  longed  to 
drag  these  villains  into  the  glaring  light  of  justice,  to  expose 
them  and  their  disgraceful  secret  to  the  shameful  light  of 
day.  But  in  this  longing  he  saw  plainly  that  Charlotte  did 
not  share.  He  was  puzzled,  scarcely  pleased  that  this  was 
so.  How  differently  little  Daisy  would  have  acted  had 
she  been  alive.  Dear  little  innocent  Daisy,  who  all  alone 
could  do  nothing,  would  in  his  strong  presence  have  grown 
so  brave  and  fearless.  She  would  have  put  the  case 
absolutely  and  once  for  all  into  his  hands.  Now  this  her 
daughter  did  not  seem  disposed  to  do.  She  said  to  him, 
with  most  manifest  anxiety,  "  You  will  do  nothing  without 
me.  You  will  do  nothing  until  we  meet  again." 

This  he  had  promised  readily  enough,  for  what  could  he 
do  in  the  short  hours  which  must  elapse  between  now  and 
their  next  meeting?  As  he  was  dressing,  however,  on  the 
following  morning,  a  sudden  idea  did  occur  to  him,  and  on 
this  idea  he  resolved  to  act  before  he  saw  Charlotte  at  six 
o'clock  in  the  evening.  He  would  go  to  Somerset  House 
and  see  Mr.  Harman's  will.  What  Daisy  first,  and  now 
Charlotte,  had  never  thought  of  doing  during  all  these  years 
he  would  do  that  very  day.  Thus  he  would  gain  certain  and 
definite  information.  With  this  information  it  would  be 
comparatively  easy  to  know  best  how  to  act. 

He  went  to  Somerset  House.  He  saw  the  will ;  he  saw 
the  greatness  of  the  robttery  committed  so  many  years  ago  ; 
he  saw  and  he  felt  a  wild  kind  of  almost  savage  delight  in  the 
fact  that  he  could  quickly  and  easily  set  the  wrong  right,  for 
he  was  one  of  the  trustees.  He  saw  all  this,  and  yet — and 
yet — he  went  away  a  very  unhappy  and  perplexed  man,  for 
he  had  seen  something  else — he  had  seen  a  woman's  agony 
and  despair.  Sandy  Wilson  possessed  the  very  softest  soul 
that  had  ever  been  put  into  a  big  body.  He  never  could 
bear  to  see  even  a  dog  in  pain.  How  then  could  he  look  at 
the  face  of  this  girl  which,  all  in  a  moment,  under  his  very 
eyes,  had  been  blanched  with  agony  ?  He  could  not  bear.  it. 
He  forgot  his  fierce  longing  for  revenge,  he  forgot  his  niece 
Charlotte's  wrongs,  in  this  sudden  and  passionate  desire  to 
succor  the  other  Charlotte,  the  daughter  of  the  bad  man 
who  had  robbed  his  own  sister,  his  own  niece  ;  he  became 
positively  anxious  that  Miss  Harman  should  not  commit  her- 


I76  JIOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUXD. 

self ;  he  felt  a  nervous  fear  as  each  word  dropped  from  her 
lips ;  he  saw  that  she  spoke  in  the  extremity  of  despair. 
How  could  he  stop  the  words  which  told  too  much  ?  He 
was  relieved  when  the  thought  occurred  to  him  to  ask  her 
to  meet  him  again — again  when  they  both  were  calmer.  She 
had  consented,  and  he  found  himself  advising  her,  as  he 
would  have  advised  his  own  dear  daughter  had  he  been 
lucky  enough  to  have  possessed  one.  He  promised  her  that 
nothing,  nothing  should  be  done  until  they  met  again,  and  so 
afraid  was  he  that  in  his  interview  that  evening  with  his  niece, 
Mrs.  Home,  he  might  be  tempted  to  drop  some  word  which 
might  betray  ever  so  little  that  other  Charlotte,  that  instead 
of  going  to  Tremin's  Road  as  he  had  intended,  he  wrote  a 
note  excusing  himself  and  putting  off  his  promised  visit  until 
the  following  evening. 


CHAPTER  XL. 
CHARLOTTE'S  PLEA. 

WHEN  at  last  the  time  drew  near  for  him  to  bend  his 
steps  in  the  direction  of  Somerset  House  he  had  by  no  means 
made  up  his  mind  how  to  act.  His  sympathies  were  still 
with  Miss  Harman.  Her  face  had  haunted  him  all  night 
long ;  but  he  felt  that  every  sense  of  justice,  every  sense  of 
right,  called  upon  him  to  befriend  Mrs.  Home.  His  dearly 
loved  dead  sister  seemed  to  call  to  him  from  her  grave 
and  to  ask  him  to  rescue  those  belonging  to  her,  to  give 
again  to  these  wronged  ones  what  was  rightfully  theirs. 
In  any  case,  seeing  the  wrong  as  he  so  plainly  did,  he 
would  have  felt  called  upon  to  take  his  sister's  part  in  the 
matter.  But  as  circumstances  now  stood,  even  had  Mrs. 
Home  been  no  relation  to  him  whatever,  he  still  must 
have  acted  for  her  and  her  alone.  For  was  he  not  the 
other  trustee  ?  and  did  not  the  very  law  of  the  land  of  his 
birth  demand  that  he  should  see  that  the  terms  of  the  will 
were  carried  out  ? 

He  arrived  at  the  square  of  Somerset  House,  and  found 
Miss  Harman  waiting  for  him. 

She  came  up  to  him  at  once  and  held  out  her  hand.     His 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


177 


quick  eye  detected  at  a  glance  that  she  was  now  quite  calm 
and  collected,  that  whatever  she  might  have  done  in  the  first 
agony  of  her  despair  yesterday,  to-day  she  would  do  nothing 
to  betray  herself.  Strange  to  say,  he  liked  her  far  less  well 
in  this  mood  than  he  had  done  yesterday,  and  his  heart  and 
inclination  veered  round  again  to  his  wronged  niece  and  her 
children  with  a  sense  of  pleasure  and  almost  triumph. 

They  began  to  walk  up  and  down,  and  Miss  Harman, 
finding  that  her  companion  was  silent,  was  the  first  to 
speak. 

"  You  asked  me  to  meet  you  here  to-day.  What  do  you 
want  to  say  to  me  ? " 

Good  heavens  !  was  she  going  to  ride  the  high  horse  over 
him  in  this  style  ?  Sandy's  small  eyes  almost  flashed  as  he 
turned  to  look  at  her. 

"  A  monstrous  wrong  has  been  done,  Miss  Harman,"  he 
answered.  "  I  have  come  to  talk  about  that." 

"  I  know,"  replied  Charlotte.  "  I  have  thought  it  all  out. 
I  know  exactly  what  has  been  done.  My  grandfather  died 
and  left  a  sum  of  twelve  hundred  a  year  to  my — to  his  wife. 
He  left  other  moneys  to  my  father  and  his  brother.  My 
father  and  his  brother,  my  uncle,  disregarded  the  claims  of 
the  widow  and  the  orphan  child.  They  appropriated  the 
money — they — stole  it — giving  to  my  grandfather's  widow  a 
small  sum  during  her  life,  which  small  sum  they  did  not  even 
allow  to  6e  retained  by  her  child." 

"  That  is  pretty  much  the  case,  young  lady.  You  have 
read  the  will  with  tolerable  accuracy." 

"  I  do  not  know  in  the  least  how  the  deed  was  done," 
continued  Charlotte.  "  How  such  a  crime  could  be  com 
mitted  and  yet  lie  hidden  all  these  years  remains  a  terrible 
and  mysterious  thing  to  me.  But  that  it  was  done,  I  can  but 
use  my  own  eyes  in  reading  my  grandfather's  will  to  see." 

"  It  was  done  easily  enough,  Miss  Harman.  They 
thought  the  other  trustee  was  dead.  Your  father  and  his 
brother  were  false  to  their  trust,  and  they  never  reckoned  that 
Sandy  Wilson  would  come  back  all  alive  and  blooming 
one  fine  morning — Sandy,  whose  duty  it  is  to  see  this  great 
wrong  put  right." 

"  Yes,  it  is  your  duty,"  said  Charlotte ;  and  now,  again, 
she  grew  very  white  ;  her  eyes  sought  the  ground  and  she 
was  silent. 

"  It  is  my  most  plain  duty,"  repeated  Wilson,  shuffling 
with  his  great  feet  as  he  walked  by  her  side. 


I78  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

"  I  should  like  to  know  what  steps  you  mean  to  take," 
continued  Charlotte,  suddenly  raising  her  eyes  to  his  face. 

"  Steps !  Good  gracious  !  young  lady,  I  have  not  had 
time  to  go  into  the  law  of  the  thing.  Besides,  I  promised  to 
do  nothing  until  we  met  again.  But  one  thing  is  plain 
enough,and  obvious  enough — my  niece,that  young  woman  who 
might  have  been  rich,  but  who  is  so  poor — that  young  woman 
must  come  in  for  her  own  again.  It  is  three-and-twenty 
years  since  her  father  died.  She  must  receive  from  your 
father  that  money  with  all  back  interest  for  the  last  three 
and  twenty  years.  That  means  a  goodish  bit  of  money  I  can 
tell  you." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  it  does,"  replied  Charlotte.  "  Mrs. 
Home  shall  have  it  all." 

"  Well,  I  hope  so,  young  lady,  and  soon,  too.  It  seems  to 
me  she  has  had  her  share  of  poverty." 

"  She  has  had,  as  you  say,  her  share  of  that  evil.  Mr. 
Wilson,"  again  raising  her  eyes  to  his  face,  "  I  know  Mrs. 
Home." 

"  You  know  her  ?  You  know  my  niece  Charlotte  person 
ally  ?  She  did  not  tell  me  that." 

"Yes,  I  know  her.     I  should  like  to  see  her  now." 

"  You  would  P-1-!  am  surprised  !     Why  ?  " 

"  That  I  might  go  down  on  my  knees  to  her." 

"Well,  good  gracious  !  young  lady,  I  supposed  you  might 
feel  sorry,  but  I  did  not  know  you  would  humble  yourself  to 
that  extent.  It  was  not  your  sin." 

"  Hush  !  It  was  my  father's  sin.  I  am  his  child.  I 
would  go  lower  than  my  knees — I  would  lie  on  the  ground 
that  she  might  walk  over  me,  if  the  better  in  that  position  I 
might  plead  for  mercy." 

"  For  mercy  ?  Ay,  that's  all  very  well,  but  Charlotte 
must  have  her  rights.  Sandy  Wilson  must  see  to  that." 

"  She  shall  have  her  rights  !  And  yet  I  would  see  her  if 
I  could,  and  if  I  saw  her  I  would  go  on  my  knees  and  plead 
for  mercy." 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  Miss  Harman." 

"  I  do  not  suppose  you  do.  Will  you  have  patience  with 
me  while  I  explain  myself  ? " 

"  I  have  come  here  to  talk  to  you  and  to  listen  to  you," 
said  Wilson. 

"  Sir,  I  must  tell  you  of  my  father,  that  man  whom  you 
(and  I  do  not  wonder)  consider  so  bad — so  low  !  When  I 
read  that  will  yesterday — when  I  saw  with  my  own  eyes 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


179 


what  a  fraud  had  been  committed,  what  a  great,  great  evil 
had  been  done,  I  felt  in  my  first  misery  that  I  almost  hated 
my  father  !  I  said  to  myself,  '  Let  him  be  punished  ! '  I 
would  have  helped  you  then  to  bring  him  to  punishment.  I 
think  you  saw  that  ?  " 

"  I  did,  Miss  Harman.  I  can  see  as  far  through  a  stone 
wall  as  most  people.  I  saw  that  you  were  a  bit  stunned,  and 
I  thought  it  but  fair  that  you  should  have  time  to  calm 
down." 

"  You  were  kind  to  me.  You  acted  as  a  good  man  and  a 
gentleman.  Then  I  scarcely  cared  what  happened  to  my 
father  ;  now  I  do." 

"  Ay,  ay,  young  lady,  natural  feelings  must  return.  I  am 
very  sorry  for'you." 

"  Mr.  Wilson,  I  hope  to  make  you  yet  more  sorry.  I  must 
tell  you  more.  When  I  saw  you  yesterday  I  knew  that  my 
father  was  ill — I  knew  that  he  was  in  appearance  an  old  man, 
a  broken  down  man,  a  very  unhappy  man  ;  but  since  I  saw 
you  yesterday  I  have  learned  that  he  is  a  dying  man — that 
old  man  against  whom  I  hardened  my  heart  so  yesterday  is 
going  fast  to  judgment.  The  knowledge  of  this  was  kept 
from  me,  for  my  father  so  loved  me,  so  guarded  me  all  my 
life  that  he  could  not  bear  that  even  a  pin's  point  of  sorrow 
should  rest  upon  me.  After  seeing  you  yesterday,  and 
leaving  you,  I  visited  some  poor  people  who,  not  knowing 
that  the  truth  was  hidden  from  me,  spoke  of  It  as  a  well 
known  fact.  I  went  away  from  them  with  my  eyes  opened. 
I  only  wondered  they  had  been  closed  so  long.  I  went  away, 
and  this  morning  I  did  more.  I  visited  one  of  the  greatest 
and  cleverest  doctors  in  London.  This  doctor  my  father, 
unknown  to  me,  had  for  some  time  consulted.  I  asked  him 
for  his  candid  opinion  on  my  father's  case.  He  gave  it  to 
me.  Nothing  can  save  my  father.  My  father  must  die  !  But 
he  told  me  more  ;  he  said  that  the  nature  of  his  complaint 
was  such  that  any  shock  must  instantly  kill  him.  He  said 
without  that  shock  he  may  live  for  months ;  not  many  months, 
but  still  for  a  few.  Hearing  this,  I  took  the  doctor  still  fur 
ther  into  my  confidence.  I  told  him  that  a  wrong  had  been 
committed — that  during  my  father's  lifetime  that  wrong 
could  not  be  set  right  without  his  knowledge.  I  said  that  he 
must  know  something  which  would  disgrace  him.  His  answer 
was  this  :  '  As  his  medical  man,  I  forbid  him  to  know ;  such 
a  knowledge  will  cause  certain  and  instant  death.'  " 


!8o  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

Charlotte  paused.  Wilson,  now  deeply  interested,  even 
appalled,  was  gazing  at  her  earnestly. 

"  I  kno\v  Charlotte  Home,"  continued  Miss  Harman  ; 
"and,  as  I  said  just  now,  I  would  see  her  now.  Yes,  she  has 
needed  money ;  she  has  longed  for  money ;  she  has  been 
cruelly  wronged — most  cruelly  treated !  Still,  I  think,  if  I 
pleaded  long  enough  and  hard  enough,  she  would  have  mercy ; 
she  would  not  hurry  that  old  man  to  so  swift  a  judgment ; 
she  would  spare  him  for  those  few,  few  months  to  which  his 
life  is  now  limited.  It  is  for  those  months  I  plead.  He  is  a 
dying  man.  I  want  nothing  to  be  done  during  those  months. 
Afterwards — afterwards  I  will  promise,  if  necessary  sign  any 
legal  paper  you  bring  to  me,thatall  that  should  have  been  hers 
shall  be  Charlotte  Home's — I  restore  it  all !  Oh,  how  swiftly 
and  how  gladly !  All  I  plead  for  are  those  few  months." 

Wilson  was  silent. 

Charlotte  suddenly  looking  at  him  almost  lost  her  self- 
control. 

"  Must  I  go  down  on  my  knees  to  you,  sir  ?  I  will  if  it 
is  necessary.  I  will  here — even  here  do  so,  if  it  is  neces 
sary." 

"  It  is  not,  it  is  not,  my  dear  Miss  Harman.  I  believe 
you  ;  from  my  soul  I  pity  you !  I  will  do  what  I  can.  I 
can't  promise  anything  without  my  niece's  permission  ;  but  I 
am  to  see  her  this  evening." 

"  Oh,  if  you  plead  with  her,  she  will  have  mercy ;  for  I 
know  her — I  am  sure  of  her  !  Oh  !  how  can  I  thank  you  ? — 
how  can  I  thank  you  both  ?  " 

Here  some  tears  rose  to  Charlotte's  eyes,  and  rolled  fast 
and  heavily  down  her  cheeks.  She  put  up  her  handkerchief 
to  wipe  them  away. 

"  You  asked  me  to  cry  yesterday,  but  I  could  not ;  now  I 
believe  I  shall  be  able,"  she  said  with  almost  a  smile.  "  God 
bless  you  !  " 

Before  Wilson  could  get  in  another  word  she  had  left  him 
and,  hurrying  through  the  square,  was  lost  to  sight. 

Wilson  gazed  after  her  retreating  form ;  then  he  went 
into  Somerset  House,  and  once  more  long  and  carefully 
studied  Mr.  Harman's  will. 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

NO  WEDDING    ON   THE   TWENTIETH. 

CHARLOTTE  was  quite  right  in  saying  that  now  she  could 
cry  ;  a  great  tension  had  been  removed,  an  immediate  agony 
lightened.  From  the  time  she  had  left  the  doctor's  presence 
until  she  had  met  Sandy  Wilson,  most  intolerable  had  been 
her  feelings.  She  would  sink  all  pride  when  she  saw  him  ; 
for  her  father's  sake,  she  would  plead  for  mercy  ;  but  know 
ing  nothing  of  the  character  of  the  man,  how  could  she  tell 
that  she  would  be  successful  ?  How  could  she  tell  that  he 
might  not  harden  his  heart  against  her  plea  ?  When  she  left 
him,  however,  she  knew  that  her  cause  was  won.  Charlotte 
Home  was  to  be  the  arbitrator  of  her  fate  ;  she  had  never  in 
all  her  life  seen  such  a  hunger  for  money  in  any  eyes  as  she 
had  done  in  Charlotte's,  and  yet  she  felt  a  moral  certainty 
that  with  Charlotte  she  was  safe.  In  the  immediate  relief  of 
this  she  could  cry,  and  those  tears  were  delicious  to  her. 
Returning  from  her  drive,  and  in  the  solitude  of  her  own 
room,  she  indulged  in  them,  weeping  on  until  no  more  tears 
would  flow.  They  took  the  maddening  pressure  of  heart  and 
brain,  and  after  them  she  felt  strong  and  even  calm.  She 
had  washed  her  face  and  smoothed  her  hair,  and  though  she 
could  not  at  once  remove  all  trace  of  the  storm  through 
which  she  had  just  passed,  she  still  looked  better  than  she 
had  done  at  breakfast  that  morning,  when  a  tap  came  to  her 
door,  and  Ward,  her  maid,  waited  outside. 

"  If  you  please,  Miss  Harman,  the  dressmaker  has  called 
again.  Will  you  have  the  wedding  dress  fitted  now  ?  " 

At  the  same  instant  and  before  Charlotte  could  reply,  a 
footman  appeared  at  the  head  of  the  stairs — "  Mr.  Hinton 
had  arrived  and  was  waiting  for  Miss  Harman,  in  her  own 
sitting-room." 

"  Say,  I  will  be  with  him  directly,"  she  answered  to  the 
man,  then  she  turned  to  Ward.  "  I  will  send  you  with  a 
message  to  the  dressmaker  this  evening ;  tell  her  I  am  en 
gaged  now." 

The  two  messengers  left,  and  Charlotte  turned  back  into 


X82  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

her  room.  She  had  to  go  through  another  fire.  Well  !  the 
sooner  it  was  over  the  better.  She  scarcely  would  give  her 
self  time  for  any  thought  as  she  ran  quickly  down  the  stairs 
and  along  the  familiar  corridor,  and  in  a  moment  found  her 
self  in  Hinton's  presence.  They  had  not  met  since  yesterday 
morning,  when  they  had  parted  in  apparent  coldness  ;  but 
Hinton  had  long  forgotten  it,  and  now,  when  he  saw  her  face, 
a  great  terror  of  pity  and  love  came  over  him. 

"  My  darling  !  my  own  darling  !  "  he  said.  He  came  up 
to  her  and  put  his  arms  round  her.  "  Charlotte,  what  is  it  ? 
You  are  in  trouble  ?  Tell  me." 

"  Ah  !  how  sweet  it  was  to  feel  the  pressure  of  his  arms, 
to  lay  her  head  on  his  breast.  She  was  silent  for  quite  a 
minute,  saying  to  herself,  "  It  is  for  the  last  time." 

"  You  are  in  great  trouble,  Charlotte  ?  Charlotte, 
what  is  it  ? "  questioned  her  lover. 

"  Yes,  I  am  in  great  trouble,"  she  said  then,  raising  her 
head  and  looking  at  him.  Her  eyes  \vefe  clear  and  frank 
and  open  as  of  old,  and  yet  at  that  moment  she  meant  to 
deceive  him  ;  she  would  not  tell  him  the  real  reason  which 
induced  her  to  break  off  her  engagement.  She  would  shelter 
her  father  in  the  eyes  of  the  man  she  loved,  at  any  cost. 

"  You  are  in  great  trouble,"  he  repeated,  seeing  that  she 
paused. 

"Yes,  John — for  myself — for  my  father — for — for  you. 
Dear  John,  we  cannot  be  married  on  the  twentieth,  we  must 
part." 

"  Charlotte  !  "  he  stepped  b-^k  a  pace  or  two  in  his 
astonishment,  and  her  arms  fell  heavily  to  her  sides. 
"  Charlotte  ! "  he  repeated ;  he  had  failed  to  understand 
her.  He  gave  a  short  laugh. 

She  began  to  tremble  when  she  heard  him  laugh,  and 
seeing  a  chair  near,  she  sunk  into  it.  "  Yes,  John,  we  must 
part,"  she  repeated. 

He  went  down  on  his  knees  then  by  her  side,  and  looked 
into  her  face.  "  My  poor  darling,  you  are  really  not  well ; 
you  are  in  trouble,  and  don't  know  what  you  are  saying. 
Tell  me  all  your  trouble,  Charlotte,  but  don't  mind  those 
other  words.  It  is  impossible  that  you  and  I  can  part.  Have 
we  not  plighted  our  troth  before  God  ?  We  cannot  take 
that  back.  Therefore  we  cannot  part." 

"  In  heart  we  may  be  one,  but  outwardly  we  must  part," 
she  repeated,  and  then  she  began  to  cry  feebly,  for  she  was 
all  unstrung.  Hinton's  words  were  too  much  for  her. 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  jgj 

"  Tell  me  all,"  he  said  then,  very  tenderly. 

"  John,  a  dark  thing  was  kept  from  me,  but  I  have  dis 
covered  it.  My  father  is  dying.  How  can  I  marry  on  the 
twentieth,  when  my  father  is  dying  ?  " 

Hinton  instantly  felt  a  sense  of  relief.  Was  this  all  the 
meaning  of  this  great  trouble  ?  This  objection  meant,  at  the 
most,  postponement,  scarcely  that,  when  Charlotte  knew  all. 

"  How  did  you  learn  that  about  your  father  ?  "  he  said. 

"  I  went  to  see  some  poor  people  yesterday,  and  they 
told  me  ;  but  that  was  not  enough.  To-day  lavished  the 
great  doctor.  My  father  has  seen  Sir  George  Anderson  ;  he 
told  me  all.  My  father  is  a  dying  man.  John,  can  you  ask 
me  to  marry  when  my  father  is  dying  ?  " 

"  I  could  not,  Charlotte,  if  it  were  not  his  own  wish." 

'•  His  own  wish  ?  "  she  repeated. 

"  Yes  !  some  time  ago  he  told  me  of  this ;  he  said  the 
one  great  thing  he  longed  for  was  to  see  you  and  me — you 
and  me,  my  own  Charlotte — husband  and  wife,  before  he  died." 

"  Why  did  he  keep  his  state  of  health  as  a  secret  from 
me  ? " 

"  I  begged  of  him  to  tell  you,  but  he  wanted  you  to  be 
his  own  bright  Charlotte  to  the  end." 

Then  Hinton  told  her  of  that  first  interview  he  had  with 
her  father.  He  told  it  well,  but  she  hardly  listened.  Must 
she  tell  him  the  truth  after  all  ?  No  !  she  would  not.  During 
her  father's  life-time  she  would  shield  him  at  any  cost.  After 
wards,  ah  !  afterwards  all  the  world  would  know. 

When  Hinton  had  ceased  speaking,  she  laid  her  hand  on 
his  arm.  "  Nevertheless,  my  darling,  I  cannot  marry  next 
week.  I  know  you  will  fail  to  understand  me.  I  know  my 
father  will  fail  to  understand  me.  That  is  hard — the  hard 
est  part,  but  I  am  doing  right.  Some  day  you  will  acknowl 
edge  that.  With  my  father  dying  I  cannot  stand  up  in  white 
and  call  myself  a  bride.  My  marriage-day  was  to  have  been 
the  entrance  into  Paradise  to  me.  With  a  funeral  so  near, 
and  so  certain,  it  cannot  be  that.  John — John— I — cannot 
— I  cannot.  We  must  not  marry  next  week." 

"  You  put  it  off,  then  ?  You  deny  your  dying  father  his 
dearest  wish  ?  That  is  not  like  you,  Charlotte." 

"  No,  it  is  unlike  me.  Everything,  always,  again,  will  be 
unlike  me.  If  you  put  it  so,  I  deny  my  father  his  dearest 
wish." 

"  Charlotte,  I  fail  to  understand  you.  You  will  not  marry 
during  your  father's  life-time.  But  it  may  be  very  quiet — very 


184  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

— very  quiet,  I  can  manage  that ;  and  you  need  not  leave 
him,  you  can  still  be  altogether  his  daughter,  and  yet  make 
him  happy  by  letting  him  feel  that  you  are  also  my  wife ; 
that  I  have  the  right  to  shield  you,  the  right  to  love  and 
comfort  you.  Come,  Charlotte  !  come,  my  darling  !  we  won't 
have  any  outward  festivity,  any  outward  rejoicing.  This  is 
but  natural,  this  can  be  managed,  and  yet  we  may  have  that 
which  is  above  and  beyond  it  all — one  another.  We  may  be 
one  in  our  sorrow  instead  of  our  joy." 

"Oh!  if  it  could  be,"  she  sobbed;  and  now  again  she 
laid  her  head  on  his  shoulder. 

"  It  shall  be,  Charlotte  ;  we  will  marry  like  that  on  the 
twentieth.  I  will  manage  it  with  your  father." 

"  No  John !  no,  my  dearest,  my  best  beloved,  I  cannot 
be  your  wife.  Loving  you  as  I  never — never — loved  you 
before,  I  give  you  up  ;  it  is  worse  than  the  agony  of  death  to 
me.  But  I  give  you  up." 

"  You  postpone  our  marriage  during  your  father's  life 
time  ?  " 

"  I  postpone  it — I  do  more — I  break  it  off.  Oh !  John, 
don't  look  at  me  like  that ;  pity  me — pity  me,  my  heart  will 
break." 

But  he  had  pushed  her  a  little  away  from  him.  Pale  as 
death  he  rose  to  his  feet.  "  Charlotte !  you  are  deceiving 
me  ;  you  have  another  reason  for  this  ?  " 

"  If  you  will  have  it  so,"  she  said. 

"  You  are  keeping  a  secret  from  me." 

"  I  do  not  say  so,  but  you  are  likely  enough  to  think  this," 
she  repeated. 

"  Can  you  deny  it  ?  " 

"  I  will  not  try,  I  know  we  must  part." 

"  If  this  is  so,  we  must.  A  secret  between  husband  and 
wife  is  fatal." 

"  It  would  be,  but  I  admit  nothing,  we  cannot  be  husband 
and  wife." 

"  Never,  Charlotte  ?  " 

"  Never ! "  she  said. 

Hinton  thought  for  a  moment,  and  then  he  came  up  and 
again  took  her  hand.  "  Lottie,  tell  me  that  secret ;  trust 
me  ;  I  know  there  is  a  secret,  tell  it  to  me,  all  of  it,  let  me 
decide  whether  it  must  part  us." 

"  I  cannot,  my  darling — my  darling — I  can  say  nothing, 
explain  nothing,  except  that  you  and  I  must  part." 


HOW  IT  A^L  CAME  ROUND.  ^5 

"  If  that  is  so,  we  must,"  he  said. 

He  was  pained,  shocked,  and  angry,  beyond  words.     He 
left  the  room  and  the  house  without  even  another  look. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

"  I  LOVE  HIM,"  SHE  ANSWERED. 

THAT  evening  Charlotte  came  softly  into  her  father's 
study  and  sat  down  by  his  side.  She  had  not  appeared  at 
dinner-time,  sending  another  excuse.  She  was  not  very  well, 
she  said ;  she  would  see  her  father  later  in  the  evening.  But 
as  she  could  not  eat,  she  did  not  care  to  come  to  dinner. 
She  would  like  to  see  her  father  quite  alone  afterwards. 
Charlotte  had  worded  this  verbal  message  with  great  care, 
for  she  wished  to  prepare  her  father  for  something  of  extra 
importance.  Even  with  the  tenderest  watching  it  was  im 
possible  to  avoid  disturbing  him  a  little,  and  she  wished  to 
prepare  him  for  the  very  slight  but  unavoidable  shock  she 
must  give.  Jasper  dined  at  Prince's  Gate  as  usual.  But 
after  dinner  he  went  away.  And  Charlotte,  when  she  knew 
this,  instantly  went  down  to  her  father.  She  was  now  per 
fectly  calm.  For  the  time  being  had  forgotten  herself 
absolutely.  Nothing  gives  outward  composure  like  self- 
forgetfulness,  like  putting  yourself  in  your  fellow-man's  place. 
Charlotte  had  done  this  when  she  stepped  up  to  her  old 
father's  side.  She  had  dressed  herself,  too,  with  special 
thought  for  him.  There  was  a  muslin  frock,  quite  clear  and 
simple,  which  he  had  loved.  It  was  a  soft  Indian  fabric, 
and  clung  to  her  fine  figure  in  graceful  folds.  She  had 
made  Ward  iron  it  out,  and  had  put  it  on.  Of  late  she  had 
considered  it  too  girlish,  but  to-night  she  appeared  in  it 
knowing  it  would  please  the  eyes  for  which  it  was  worn. 

Mr.  Harman  was  chilly  and  sat  by  the  fire.  As  usual  the 
room  was  softly  but  abundantly  lit  by  candles.  Charlotte 
loved  light,  and,  as  a  rule,  hated  to  talk  to  any  one  without 
looking  at  that  person  fully.  But  to-night  an  opposite 
motive  caused  her  to  put  out  one  by  one  all  the  candles. 

"  Does  not  the  room  look  cosy  with  only  the  firelight  ? " 
she  said.  And  then  she  sat  down  on  a  low  stool  at  her 
father's  feet. 


1 86  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

"  You  are  better  now,  my  love.  Tell  me  you  are  better," 
he  said,  taking  her  hand  in  his. 

"  I  am  well  enough  to  sit  and  talk  to  you,  father,"  she 
said. 

"  But  what  ailed  you,  Lottie  ?  You  could  not  come  to 
dinner  either  yesterday  or  to-day;  and  I  lemember  you 
looked  ill  this  morning.  What  is  wrong  ?  " 

"  I  felt  troubled,  and  that  has  brought  on  a  headache. 
But  don't  let  us  talk  about  me.  I  mean,  I  suppose  we  must 
after  a  little,  but  not  at  first." 

"  Whom  shall  we  talk  about  first  ?  Who  is  more  impor 
tant  ?  Is  it  Hinton  ?  You  cannot  get  me\.Q  think  that  Char 
lotte." 

"  You  are  more  important.     I  want  to  talk  about  you." 

Now  she  got  hold  of  his  hand,  and,  turning  round,  gazed 
firmly  into  his  face. 

"  Father,  you  have  troubled  me.  You  have  caused  my 
headache." 

Instantly  a  startled  look  came  into  his  eyes  ;  and  she, 
reading  him  now — as,  alas !  she  knew  how  to  do  but  too  well 
— hastened  to  soothe  it. 

"  You  wanted  to  send  me  away,  to  make  me  less  your 
own,  if  that  were  possible.  Father,  I  have  come  here  to 
night  to  tell  you  that  I  am  not  going  away — that  I  am  all 
your  own,  even  to  the  end." 

"  My  own  to  the  end  ?  Yes,  you  must  always  be  that. 
But  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

She  felt  the  hand  she  held  trembling,  and  hastened  to 
add,— 

"  Why  did  you  keep  the  truth  from  me  ?  Why  did  you 
try  to  deceive  me,  your  nearest  and  dearest,  as  to  your  state 
of  health  ?  But  I  know  it  all  now.  I  am  not  going  away 
from  you." 

"  You  mean — you  mean,  Charlotte,  you  will  not  marry 
Hinton  next  week '' 

"  No,  father." 

"  Have  you  told  him  ?  " 

"  Yes." ' 

"  Charlotte,  do  you  know  the  worst  about  me  ?  " 

"  I  know  all  about  you.  I  went  to  see  Sir  George  An 
derson  this  morning.  I  forced  from  him  the  opinion  he  has 
already  given  to  you.  He  says  that  I  cannot  keep  you  long. 
But  while  I  can,  we  will  never  part." 

Mr.  Harman's  hand  had  now  ceased  to  tremble.     It  lay 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  187 

warm  and  quiet  in  his  daughter's  clasp.     After  a  time  he 
said — 

"  Put  your  arms  round  me  darling." 

She  rose  to  her  feet,  clasped  her  hands  round  his  neck, 
and  laid  her  head  on  his  shoulder.  In  this  position  he  kissed 
first  her  bright  hair,  then  her  cheek  and  brow. 

"  But  I  want  my  little  girl  to  leave  me,"  he  said.  "  Ill 
ness  need  not  make  me  selfish.  You  can  still  be  my  one 
only  dear  daughter,  and  yet  be  Hinton's  wife." 

"  I  am  your  only  dear  daughter,"  she  repeated.  "  Never 
mind  about  my  being  any  man's  wife."  She  tried  to  smile  as 
she  resumed  her  seat  at  his  feet. 

Mr.  Harman  saw  the  attempt  at  a  smile,  and  it  instantly 
strengthened  him  to  proceed. 

"  Charlotte,  I  am  not  sorry  that  you  know  that  which  I 
had  not  courage  either  to  tell  you  or  to  cause  another  to  tell 
you.  I  am — yes,  I  am  dying.  Some  day  before  long  I  must 
leave  you.  my  darling.  I  must  go  away  and  return  no  more. 
But  before  I  die  I  want  to  see  you  Hinton's  wife.  It  will 
make  me  happier  to  see  this,  for  you  love  him,  and  he  can 
make  you  happy.  You  do  love  him,  Charlotte  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  love -him,"  she  answered. 

"  Then  we  will  not  postpone  the  marriage.  My  child 
shall  marry  the  man  she  loves,  and  have  the  strength  of  his 
love  in  the  dark  days  that  must  follow  ;  and  in  one  week  you 
will  be  back  with  me,  no  less  my  child  because  you  are  Hin- 
tons's  wife." 

"  Father,  I  cannot." 

"  Not  if  I  wish  it,  dear — if  I  have  set  my  heart  on  it  ?  " 
"  I  cannot,"  she  repeated. 

She  felt  driven  to  her  wits'  end,  and  pressed  her  hands  to 
her  face. 

"  Charlotte,  what  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?  There  is  more 
here  than  meets  the  eye.  Have  you  and  Hinton  quar 
relled  ? " 

"  No,  except  over  this.  And  even  over  this  it  takes  two 
to  make  a  quarrel.  I  cannot  marry  next  week  ;  I  have  told  him 
so.  He  is  vexed,  and  you — you  are  vexed.  Must  I  break 
my  heart  and  leave  you  ?  You  have  always  given  me  my 
own  way ;  give  it  now.  Don't  send  me  away  from  you.  It 
would  break  my  heart  to  marry  and  leave  you  now." 

"  Is  this  indeed  so,  Charlotte  ?  "  he  said.  "  Would  you 
with  your  whole  heart  rather  put  it  off  ?  " 

"With  my  whole,  whole  heart,  I  would  rather,"  she  said. 


1 88  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

"  I  will  not  urge  it.  I  cannot ;  and  yet  it  destroys  a 
hope  which  I  thought  might  cheer  me  on  my  dying  bed." 

"  Never  mind  the  hope,  father  ;  you  will  have  me.  I  shall 
not  spend  that  week  away  from  you." 

"  No,  that  week  did  seem  long  to  look  forward  to." 

"  Ah !  you  are  glad  after  all  that  I  am  to  be  with  you," 
she  said.  "You  will  let  me  nurse  you  and  care  for  you.  You 
will  not  force  yourself  to  do  more  than  you  are  able.  Now 
that  I  know  all,  I  can  take  such  care  of  you,  and  the  thought 
of  that  will  make  me  happier  by  and  by." 

"  It  is  a  relief  that  you  know  the  worst,"  said  Mr.  Har- 
man,  but  he  did  not  smile  or  look  contented  ;  he,  as  well  as 
Hinton,  felt  that  there  was  more  in  this  strange  desire  of 
Charlotte's  than  met  the  eye. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

"  YOU    DON'T   WANT   MONEY  ?  " 

SANDY  WILSON  having  again  very  carefully  read  Mr. 
Harman's  will,  felt  much  puzzled  how  to  act.  He  was  an 
honest,  upright,  practical  man  himself.  The  greatness  of  the 
crime  committed  quite  startled  him.  He  had  no  sympathy 
for  the  wicked  men  who  had  done  the  deed,  and  he  had  the 
very  keenest  sympathy  for  those  against  whom  the  deed  was 
done.  His  little  orphan  and  widowed  sister  and  her  baby 
child  were  the  wronged  ones.  The  men  who  had  wronged 
her  he  had  never  seen.  He  said  to  himself  that  he  had  no 
sympathy,  no  sympathy  whatever  for  Mr.  Harman.  What  if 
he  was  a  dying  man,  was  that  fact  to  screen  him  ?  Was  he 
to  be  allowed  to  go  down  to  his  grave  in  peace,  his  gray  head 
appearing  to  be  to  him  a  crown  of  glory,  honored  by  the 
world,  cheered  for  his  great  success  in  life  ?  Was  all  this  to 
be  allowed  to  continue  when  he  was  worthy  not  of  applause 
but  of  hisses,  of  the  world's  most  bitter  opprobrium  ?  " 

And  yet  Sandy  felt  that,  little  or  indeed  no  pity  as  he  had 
for  this  most  wicked  man,  even  if  Charlotte  had  not  come  to 
him  and  pleaded  with  eyes,  voice,  and  manner  he  could 
scarcely  have  exposed  Mr.  Harman.  He  could  scarcely,  after 
hearing  that  great  doctor's  verdict,  have  gone  up  to  the  old 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  iSg 

man  and  said  that  which  would  hurry  him  without  an  instant's 
time  for  repentance,  to  judgment. 

Alexander  Wilson  believed  most  fully  in  a  judgment  to 
come.  When  he  thought  of  it  now,  a  certain  sense  of  relief 
came  over  him.  He  need  not  trouble  so  sorely ;  he  might 
leave  this  sinner  to  his  God.  •  It  is  to  be  feared  that  he 
thought  more  of  God's  justice  than  of  His  loving  mercy  and 
forgiveness,  as  he  decided  to  leave  John  Harman  in  His 
hands. 

That  evening  at  six  o'clock  he  was  to  be  again  with  Char 
lotte  Home.  For  Charlotte  Harman's  sake,  he  had  denied 
himself  that  pleasure  the  night  before  ;  but  this  evening  the 
solitary  man  might  enjoy  the  keen  pleasure  of  being  with  his 
very  own.  Mrs.  Home  was  his  nearest  living  relation — the 
child  of  his  own  loved  sister.  He  did  not  know  yet  whether 
he  could  love  her  at  all  as  he  had  loved  his  little  Daisy ;  but 
he  felt  quite  sure  that  her  children  would  twine  Jhemselves 
round  his  heart ;  for  already  the  remembrance  of  Daisy 
Home  was  causing  it  to  beat  high  with  pleasure. 

As  the  hour  approached  for  his  visit,  he  loaded  himself 
with  presents  not  only  for  the  children,  but  for  the  whole 
family.  He  said  to  himself  with  much  delight,  that  however 
much  Mr.  Harman's  will  might  be  tied  up  for  the  present, 
yet  Sandy  Wilson's  purse  was  open.  He  had  far  less  idea 
than  Charlotte  Harman  what  children  really  liked,  but  he 
loaded  himself  with  toys,  cakes,  and  sweeties ;  and  for  his 
special  pet  Daisy  over  and  above  the  other  two  he  bought 
the  very  largest  doll  that  a  Regent  Street  shop  could  furnish 
him  with.  This  doll  was  as  heavy  as  a  baby,  and  by  no 
means  so  beautiful  to  look  at  as  its  smaller  companions.  But 
Sandy  was  no  judge  in  such  matters. 

With  his  presents  for  the  adults  of  the  party  he  was  more 
fortunate.  For  his  niece  he  purchased  a  black  silk,  which 
in  softness,  lustre,  and  quality  could  not  be  surpassed  ;  for 
Mr.  Home  he  bought  two  dozen  very  old  port ;  for  Anne,  a 
bright  blue  merino  dress. 

These  goods  were  packed  into  a  four-wheeler,  and,  punc 
tually  at  six  o'clock,  that  well-laden  cab  drew  up  at  10,  Tremins 
Road.  Three  eager  pairs  of  eyes  watched  the  unpacking, 
for  the  three  pretty  children,  dressed  in  their  best,  were  in 
the  dining-room  ;  Mr.  Home  was  also  present,  and  Charlotte 
had  laid  her  tea-table  with  several  unwonted  dainties  in  hon 
or  of  her  uncle's  visit.  Anne,  the  little  maid,  was  fluttering 
about  ;  that  well-laden  cab  had  raised  her  spirits  and  her 


190  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

hopes.  She  flew  in  and  out,  helping  the  cabby  to  bring  the 
numerous  parcels  into  the  hall. 

"Ah!  Annie,  my  girl,  here's  something  for  you,"  said 
Uncle  Sandy,  tossing  her  dress  to  her.  After  which,  it  is  to 
be  feared,  Anne  went  off  her  head  for  a  little  bit. 

The  children,  headed  by  their  mother,  came  into  the  little 
hall  to  meet  and  welcome  their  uncle.  He  entered  the  din 
ing-room  with  Daisy  riding  on  his  shoulder.  Then  before 
tea  could  even  be  thought  of,  the  presents  must  be  discussed. 
The  cakes,  the  sweeties,  the  toys  were  opened  out ;  the  chil 
dren  scampered  about,  laughed,  shouted,  and  kissed  the  old 
Australian.  Never  in  all  his  life  had  Uncle  Sandy  felt  so 
happy. 

Over  an  hour  passed  in  this  way,  then  the  mother's  firm 
voice  was  heard.  The  little  heads  were  raised  obediently. 
Good-night  kisses  were  given,  and  Harold,  Daisy,  and  little 
Angus  were  led  off  to  their  nursery  by  the  highly  flushed  and 
excited  Anne. 

The  tea  which  followed  and  the  quiet  talk  were  nearly  as 
pleasant,  and  Uncle  Sandy  so  enjoyed  himself,  that  for  a 
time  he  completely  forgot  old  Harman's  will,  his  own  half 
promise,  Charlotte  Harman's  despair. 

It  was  all  brought  back  to  him,  however,  and  by  the 
Homes  themselves.  The  tea  things  had  been  removed,  the 
gas  was  lit,  the  curtains  drawn,  and  Charlotte  Home  had  in 
sisted  on  her  old  uncle  seating  himself  in  the  one  easy-chair 
which  the  room  possessed.  She  herself  stood  on  the  hearth 
rug,  and  glancing  for  a  moment  at  her  husband  she  spoke. 

"  Uncle  Sandy,  it  is  so  good  to  have  you  back  again,  and 
Angus  and  I  are  so  truly  glad  to  welcome  my  dear  mother's 
brother  to  our  home,  that  we  think  it  hard  to  have  to  touch 
on  anything  the  least  gloomy  to-night.  Just  a  word  or  two 
will  be  sufficient,  and  then  we  must  drop  the  subject  for 
ever." 

Uncle  Sandy  raised  his  wrinkled  old  face. 

"  Ah,"  he  said.  "  If  there's  anything  unpleasant,  have  it 
cut  by  all  means — out  and  over — that's  my  own  motto." 

"  We  spoke  the  other  night,"  continued  Charlotte,  "  about 
my  dear  mother.  I  told  you  that  she  was  poor — that  she  had 
to  do  with  poverty,  from  the  hour  of  my  father's  death  until  the 
end  of  her  own  life.  It  is  all  over  for  her  now,  she  is  at  rest. 
If  plenty  of  money  could  be  found  for  her  she  would  not  need 
it.  When  I  told  you  the  story  you  expressed  a  doubt  that  all 
v.'as  not  right ;  you  said  it  was  absolutely  impossible  that  my 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


191 


father  could  have  left  my  mother  nothing ;  you  «aid  that 
either  the  will  was  i  ampered  with  or  not  acted  on.  Well, 
Uncle  Sandy,  I  agree  with  you.  I  had  long  felt  that  some 
thing  was  not  right." 

"  Ay,  ay,  my  girl ;  I  said  before,  you  had  a  brain  in  your 
head  and  a  head  on  your  shoulders.  Trust  Uncle  Sandy  not 
to  know  a  clever  woman  when  he  sees  her." 

"  Well,  uncle,  I  can  say  all  the  rest  in  a  very  few  words. 
You  said  you  could  investigate  the  matter ;  that  you  could 
discover  whether  any  foul  play  had  been  committed.  I  asked 
you  not  to  do  so  until  I  saw  you  again ;  I  now  ask  you  not 
to  do  so  at  all ;  to  let  the  whole  matter  rest  always.  In  this 
I  have  my  husband's  sanction  and  wish." 

"Yes,  Lottie  has  my  full  approval  in  this  matter,"  said 
Mr.  Home,  coming  forward  and  laying  his  hand  on  his  wife's 
shoulder.  "  We  don't  want  money,  we  would  rather  let  the 
matter  rest." 

"  You  don't  want  money  !  "  said  Uncle  Sandy  ,gazing  hard 
from  the  ethereal  wornlooking  man,  to  the  woman,  tall  and 
thin,  in  her  rusty  dress,  with  every  mark  of  poverty  showing 
in  thin  cheek,  in  careworn  eyes,  in  labor-stained  hands. 
"  You  don't  want  money  !  "  he  repeated.  "  Niece  Charlotte, 
I  retract  what  I  said  of  you — I  thought  you  were  not  quite  a 
fool.  As  to  you,  Home,  I  don't  pretend  to  understand  you. 
You  don't  want  money  ?  " 

Mr.  Home  smiled.  Charlotte  bent  down  and  kissed  her 
old  uncle's  brow. 

"  Nevertheless,  you  will  do  what  we  wish,  even  though 
you  don't  understand,"  she  said. 

Uncle  Sandy  took  her  hand. 

"Sit  down  near  me,  Niece  Charlotte,"  he  said.  "And 
as  to  you,  Home,  you  have  a  long  story  to  hear.  After  you 
have  heard  it,  it  will  be  time  enough  to  discuss  your  proposi 
tion.  The  fact  is,  Charlotte,  I  disobeyed  you  in  part.  You 
asked  me  to  do  nothing  in  this  matter  until  we  met  again.  I 
did  nothing  to  compromise  you  ;  but,  nevertheless,  I  was  not 
idle,  I  wanted  to  set  my  own  mind  at  rest.  There  was  an 
easy  way  of  doing  this  which  I  knew  of,  and  which  I  won 
dered  had  not  occurred  to  you.  Charlotte,  I  went  yesterday 
to  Somerset  House  ;  doubtless,  you  know  nothing  of  what 
took  me  there.  I  can  soon  enlighten  you.  In  a  certain 
part  of  that  vast  pile,  all  wills  are  obliged  to  be  kept.  Any 
one  who  likes  may  go  there,  and,  by  paying  the  sum  of  one 


192 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUXD. 


shilling,  read  any  will  they  desire.  I  did  so.  I  went  to  Som 
erset  House  and  I  saw  your  father's  will." 

"  Yes,"  said  Charlotte.  Whatever  her  previous  resolution, 
she  no  doubt  felt  keenly  excited  now.  "  Yes,"  she  repeated, 
"  you  read  my  father's  will." 

"  I  read  it.  I  read  it  in  a  hurry  yesterday ;  to-day  I  saw 
it  again  and  read  it  carefully.  There  is  no  flaw  in  it ;  it  is  a 
will  that  must  stand,  that  cannot  be  disputed.  Charlotte,  you 
were  right  in  your  forebodings.  Niece  Charlotte,  you  and 
your  mother,  before  you,  were  basely  robbed,  cruelly  wronged ; 
your  dead  father  was  just  and  upright ;  your  living  brothers 
are  villains ;  your  father  left,  absolutely  to  your  mother 
first,  and  to  you  at  her  death,  the  sum  of  twelve  hnndred  a 
year.  He  left  to  you  both  a  large  enough  sum  of  money  to 
realize  that  large  yearly  income.  You  were  robbed  of  it. 
Do  you  know  how  ? " 

"No,"  said  Charlotte.  She  said  that  one  little  word 
almost  in  a  whisper.  Her  face  was  deadly  pale. 

"  That  money  was  left  in  your  father's  will  in  trust ;  it 
was  confided  to  the  care  of  three  men,  whose  solemn  duty  it 
was  to  realize  it  for  your  mother  first,  afterwards  for  you  and 
your  children.  Those  men  were  called  trustees  ;  t\vo  of  them, 
Charlotte,  were  your  half-brothers,  John  and  Jasper  Harman  ; 
the  other  was  your  mother's  only  living  brother,  Sandy  Wil 
son.  These  trustees  were  false  to  you  :  two  of  them  by  sim 
ply  ignoring  the  trust  and  taking  the  money  to  themselves  ; 
the  other,  by  pretending  to  be  dead  when  he  ought  to  have 
been  in  England  attending  to  his  duty.  The  Harmans,  the 
other  trustees,  so  fully  believed  me  to  be  dead  that  they 
thought  their  sin  would  never  be  found  out.  But  they  reck 
oned  without  their  host,  for  Sandy  has  returned,  and  the 
missing  trustee  can  act  now.  Better,  late  than  never — eh, 
Niece  Charlotte  ? " 

"  My  poor  mother  !  "  said  Charlotte,  "  my  poor,  poor 
mother ! " 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  The  suddenness 
and  greatness  of  the  crime  done  had  agitated  her.  She  was 
very  much  upset.  Her  husband  came  again  very  near  and 
put  his  hand  on  her  shoulder.  His  face,  too,  was  troubled. 

"  It  was  a  terrible  sin,"  he  said,  "  a  terrible  sin  to  lie  on 
these  men's  breasts  for  three  and  twenty  years.  God  help 
these  sinners  to  repentance  !  " 

"  Yes,  God  help  them,"  repeated  Uncle  Sandy,  "  and  also 
those  the"  have  wronged.  But  now  look  up,  Charlotte,  for  I 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND, 


193 


have  not  told  you  all.  A  man  never  sins  for  himself  alone  ; 
if  he  did  it  would  not  so  greatly  matter,  for  God  and  the  pangs 
of  an  evil  conscience  would  make  it  impossible  for  him  to  get 
off  scot  free  ;  but — I  found  it  out  in  the  bush,  where,  I  can 
tell  you,  I  met  rough  folks  enough — the  innocent  are  dragged 
down  with  the  guilty.  Now  this  is  the  case  here.  In  expos 
ing  the  guilty  the  innocent  must  suffer.  I  don't  mean  you, 
my  dear,  nor  my  poor  little  wronged  Daisy.  In  both  your 
cases  the  time  for  suffering,  I  trust,  is  quite  at  an  end,  but 
there  is  another  victim."  Here  Uncle  Sandy  paused,  and 
Charlotte,  having  recovered  her  composure,  stood  upright  on 
the  hearthrug  ready  to  listen.  "  When  I  went  to  Somerset 
House  yesterday,  I  had,  in  order  to  obtain  a  sight  of  Mr. 
Harman's  will,  to  go  through  a  little  ceremony.  It  is  not 
necessary  to  go  into  it.  I  had  to  get  certain  papers,  and  take 
orders  to  certain  rooms.  All  this  was  the  little  form  imposed 
on  me^  by  the  Government  for  my  curiosity.  At  last  I  was 
told  to  go  to  a  room,  called  the  reading  room,  and  asked  to 
wait  there  until  the  will  was  brought  to  me.  It  was  a  small 
room,  and  I  sat  down  prepared  to  wait  patiently  enough. 
There  were  about  half-a-dozen  people  in  the  room  besides 
myself,  some  reading  wills,  others  waiting  until  they  were 
brought.  One  woman  sat  at  the  table  exactly  opposite  to  me. 
She  was  the  only  woman  in  the  room  at  the  time,  and  per 
haps  that  fact  made  me  first  notice  her ;  but  when  I  looked 
once,  I  could  not  have  been  old  Sandy  Wilson  without  want 
ing  to  look  again.  I  have  a  weakness  for  fine  women,  and 
this  woman  was  fine,  in  the  sense  that  makes  you  feel  that 
she  is  lovable.  Ske  was  young,  eager-looking.  I  have  no 
doubt  her  features  were  handsome,  but  it  was  her  open,  almost 
childlike  expression  which  attracted  most.  She  was  essen 
tially  a  fine  creature,  and  yet  there  was  a  peculiar  childish 
innocence  about  her,  that  made  old  Sandy  long  to  protect  her 
on  the  spot.  I  was  looking  at  her,  and  hoping  she  would 
not  notice  it  and  think  old  Sandy  Wilson  a  bore,  when  a  man 
came  into  the  room  and  said  something  to  the  clerk  at  the 
desk.  The  clerk  turned  to  me  and  said,  '  The  will  of  the 
name  of  Harman  is  being  read  at  this  moment  by  some  one 
else  in  the  room.'  Instantly  this  girl  looked  up,  her  eyes 
met  mine,  her  face  grew  all  one  blaze  of  color,  though  she 
was  a  pale  enough  lass  the  moment  before,  and  a  frightened 
expression  came  into  her  eyes.  She  looked  down  again  at 
once,  and  went  on  reading  in  a  hurried,  puzzled  way,  as  if 
she  was  scarcely  taking  in  much.  Of  course  I  knew  she  had 


194 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


the  will,  and  I  did  not  want  to  hurry  or  confuse  her,  so  I  pre 
tended  to  turn  my  attention  to  something  else.  It  must  have 
been  quite  a  couple  of  minutes  before  1  looked  again,  and 
then — I  confess  that  I  am  not  easily  startled,  but  I  did  have 
to  smother  an  exclamation — the  poor  girl  must  have  discov 
ered  the  baseness  and  the  fraud  in  those  two  minutes.  Had 
she  been  any  other  but  the  plucky  lass  she  is,  she  would 
have  been  in  a  dead  faint  on  the  floor,  for  I  never,  never  in 
all  my  pretty  vast  experience,  saw  a  living  face  so  white.  I 
could  not  help  looking  at  her  then,  for  I  was  completely  fas 
cinated.  She  went  on  reading  for  half  a  minute  longer;  then 
she  raised  her  eyes  and  gazed  straight  and  full  at  me.  She 
had  big,  open  gray  eyes,  and  a  moment  before,  they  were  full 
of  innocence  and  trust  like  a  child's,  now  there  was  a  wild 
anger  and  despair  in  them.  She  was  quite  quiet  however., 
and  no  one  else  in  the  room  noticed  her.  She  pushed  the 
will  across  the  table  to  me  and  said,  "  That  is  Mr.  Harman's 
will,"  then  she  put  on  her  gloves  quite  slowly  and  drew  down 
her  veil,  and  left  the  room  as  sedately  and  quietly  as  you 
please.  I  just  glanced  my  eye  over  the  will.  I  took  in  the 
right  place  and  saw  the  shameful  truth.  I  was  horrified 
enough,  but  I  could  not  wait  to  read  it  all.  I  gave  the  will 
back  intending  to  go  to  it  another  time,  for  I  felt  I  must 
follow  that  girl  at  any  cost.  I  came  up  to  her  in  Somerset 
House  square.  I  did  not  care  what  she  thought ;  I  must 
speak  to  her;  I  did.  Poor  lass!  I  think  she  was  quite 
stunned.  She  did  not  resent  the  liberty  old  Sandy  had 
taken.  When  I  asked  her  to  wait  and  let  me  talk  to  her  she 
turned  at  once — I  have  not  lived  in  the  bush  so  long  without 
being,  I  pride  myself,  sharp  enough  in  reading  character.  I 
saw  the  girl,  proud  girl  enough  at  ordinary  times,  was  in 
that  state  of  despair  which  makes  people  do  desperate  things. 
She  was  defiant,  and  told  more  than  I  expected.  She  was 
Miss  Harman — Charlotte  Harman,  by  the  way,  she  said. 
Yes  ;  her  father  had  stolen  that  money  ;  would  I  like  to  see 
him  ?  he  lived  in  such  a  place  ;  his  name  was  so-  and-so. 
Yes  ;  she  was  his  only  child.  Her  manner  was  so  reckless, 
so  defiant,  and  yet  so  full  of  absolute  misery,  that  I  could  do 
nothing  but  pity  her  from  my  very  heart.  I  forgot  you, 
Niece  Lottie,  and  your  rights,  and  everything  but  this  fine 
creature  stricken  so  low  through  another's  sins.  I  said, 
'  Hush,  you  shall  say  no  more  to-day.  You  are  stunned,  you 
are  shocked,  you  must  have  time  to  think  ;  I  won't  remem 
ber  a  thing  you  say  about  your  father  now.  Go  home  and 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  jgij 

come  back  again  to-morrow,'  I  said ;  '  sleep  over  it,  and  I  will 
sleep  over  it,  and  I  will  meet  you  here  to-morrow,  when  you 
are  more  calm."  She  agreed  to  this  and  went  away.  I  felt 
a  little  compunction  for  my  own  softness  during  that  evening 
and  night,  Niece  Charlotte,  I  felt  that  I  was  not  quite  true  to 
you ;  but  then  you  had  not  seen  her  face,  poor  brave  young 
thing,  poor  young  thing  !  " 

Here  Uncle  Sandy  paused  and  looked  hard  from  his  niece 
to  her  husband.  Charlotte's  eyes  were  full  of  tears,  Mr. 
Home  was  smiling  at  him.  There  was  something  peculiar 
in  this  man's  rare  smiles  which  turned  them  into  blessings. 
They  were  far  more  eloquent  than  words,  for  they  were  fed 
from  some  illumination  of  strong  approval  within.  Uncle 
Sandy,  without  understanding,  felt  a  warm  glow  instantly 
kindling  in  his  heart. 

Charlotte  said,  "  Go  on,"  in  a  broken  voice. 

"  To-day,  at  the  appointed  hour,  I  met  her  again,"  pro 
ceeded  the  Australian.  "  She  was  changed,  she  was  com 
posed  enough  now,  she  was  on  her  guard,  she  did  not  win 
my  sympathy  so  much  as  in  her  despair.  She  was  quite  open, 
however,  as  to  the  nature  of  the  crime  committed,  and  told 
me  she  knew  well  what  a  sin  her  father  had  been  guilty  of. 
Suddenly  she  startled  me  by  saying  that  she  knew  you,  Char 
lotte.  She  said  she  wished  she  could  see  you  now.  I  asked 
her  why.  She  said,  '  That  I  might  go  down  on  my  knees  to 
her.'  I  was  surprised  at  such  words  coming  from  so  proud 
a  creature.  I  said  so.  She  repeated  that  she  would  go  down 
on  her  knees  that  she  might  the  better  plead  for  mercy.  I 
was  beginning  to  harden  my  old  heart  at  that,  and  to  think 
badly  of  her,  when  she  stopped  rne,  by  telling  me  a  strange 
and  sad  thing.  She  said  that  she  had  discovered  something, 
something  very  terrible,  between  that  hour  and  yesterday. 
Her  father  had  been  ill  for  some  time,  but  the  worst  had 
been  kept  from  her.  She  said  yesterday  that  a  poor  person 
let  her  know  quite  accidentally  that  he  was  not  only  ill  but 
dying.  She  went  alone  that  morning  to  consult  a  doctor, 
one  of  those  first-rate  doctors  whose  word  is  law.  Mr.  Har- 
man,  it  seemed,  unknown  to  her,  was  one  of  this  man's 
patients.  He  told  her  that  he  was  hopelessly  ill ;  that  he 
could  only  live  for  a  few  months,  and  that  any  shock  might 
end  his  days  in  a  moment.  She  then  told  this  doctor  in 
confidence  something  of  what  she  had  discovered  yesterday, 
he  said,  '  As  his  medical  man,  I  forbid  you  to  tell  to  your 
father  this  discovery  you  have  made ;  if  you  do  so  he  will 


196  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUXD. 

die  instantly.'  Miss  Harman  told  me  this  strange  tale,  and 
then  she  began  to  plead  with  me.  She  begged  of  me  to 
show  mercy ;  not  to  do  anything  in  this  matter  during  the  few 
months  which  still  remained  of  her  father's  life.  Afterwards, 
she  promised  to  restore  all,  and  more  than  all  of  what  had 
been  stolen.  I  hesitated  ;  I  scarcely  knew  how  to  proceed. 
She  saw  it  and  exclaimed,  '  Do  you  want  me  to  go  on  my 
knees  to  you  ?  I  will  this  moment,  and  here.'  Then  I  said 
1  could  do  nothing  without  consulting  you,  I  could  do  noth 
ing  without  your  consent.  Instantly  the  poor  thing's  whole 
face  changed — I  never  saw  such  a  change  from  despair  to  re 
lief.  She  held  out  her  hand  to  me  ;  she  said  she  v>  as  safe ; 
she  said  she  knew  you;  and  tliatwilh  you  she  was  safe.  She 
said  she  never  saw  any  one  in  her  life  seem  to  want  money 
so  badly  as  you ;  but  for  all  that,  with  you  she  was  quite 
safe.  She  looked  so  thankful.  '  I  can  cry  now,'  she  said  as 
she  went  away."  Uncle  Sandy  paused  again,  and  again 
looked  at  his  niece  and  her  husband.  "  I  told  her  that  I 
would  come  to  you  to-night,"  he  said,  "  that  I  would  plead 
her  cause,  and  I  have,  have  I  not  ?  " 

"Well  and  nobly,"  answered  Mrs.  Home.  "Angus, 
think  of  her  trusting  me  !  I  am  so  glad  she  could  trust  me. 
Indeed  she  is  safe  with  us." 

"  How  soon  can  you  go  to  her  in  the  morning,  Lottie  ? " 
asked  the  curate. 

"  With  the  first  dawn  I  should  like  tp  go,  I  only  wish  I 
could  fly  to  her  now.  Oh,  Angus  !  what  she  must  suffer ; 
and  next  Tuesday  is  to  be  her  wedding-day.  How  my  heart 
does  ache  for  her  !  But  I  am  glad  she  trusts  me." 

Here  Mrs.  Home  become  so  excited  that  a  great  flood  of 
tears  came  into  her  eyes.  She  must  cry  them  away  in  private. 
She  left  the  room,  and  the  curate,  sitting  down,  told  to  Uncle 
Sandy  how  Charlotte  Harman  had  saved  little  Harold's  life. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

LOVE  BEFORE  GOLD. 


FOR  the  first  time  in  all  her  life,  Mrs.  Home  laid  her 
head  on  her  pillow  with  the  knowledge  that  she  was  a  rich 
woman.  Those  good  things  which  money  can  buy  could  be 
hers  ;  her  husband  need  want  no  more  ;  her  children  might 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  197 

be  so  trained,  so  nurtured,  so  carefully  tended  that  their 
beauty,  their  beauty  both  physical  and  moral,  would  be  seen 
in  clearest  lustre.  How  often  she  had  dreamed  of  the  pos 
sibility  of  such  a  time  arriving,  and  now  at  last  it  had  come. 
Ever  since  her  dying  mother  had  told  her  own  true  history, 
she  had  dwelt  upon  this  possible  moment,  dwelt  upon  it 
with  many  murmurings,  many  heart  frettings.  Could  it  be 
realized,  she  would  be  the  happiest  of  women.  Then  she 
had  decided  to  give  it  all  up,  to  put  the  golden  dream  quite 
out  of  her  life  and,  behold  !  she  had  scarcely  done  so  before  it 
had  come  true,  the  dream  was  a  reality^  the  riches  lay  at 
her  feet.  In  no  way  through  her  interference  had  this  come 
about.  Yes,  but  in  the  moment  of  her  victory  the  woman 
who  had  so  longed  for  money  was  very  miserable ;  like 
Dead  Sea  apples  was  the  taste  of  this  eagerly  desired  fruit. 
She  was  enriched  through  another's  anguish  and  despair, 
through  the  wrecking  of  another's  happiness,  and  that  other 
had  saved  the  life  of  her  child.  Only  one  thing  comforted 
Charlotte  Home  during  the  long  hours  of  that  weary  night ; 
Charlotte  Hannan  had  said. — 

"  With  her  I  am  safe ;  dearly  as  she  loves  money,  with 
her  I  am  quite  safe." 

Mrs.  Home  thought  the  slow  moments  would  never  fly 
until  she  was  with  the  sister  friend,  who  in  her  own  bitter 
humiliation  and  shame  could  trust  her.  In  the  morning, 
she  and  her  husband  had  a  talk  together.  Then  hurrying 
through  her  household  duties,  she  started  at  a  still  very 
early  hour  for  Prince's  Gate.  She  arrived  there  before  ten 
o'clock,  and  as  she  mounted  the  steps  and  pulled  the  pon 
derous  bell  she  could  not  help  thinking  of  her  last  visit ;  she 
had  felt  sore  and  jealous  then,  to-day  she  was  bowed  down  by 
a  sense  of  unworthiness  and  humility.  Then,  too,  she  had 
gone  to  visit  this  rich  and  prosperous  young  woman  dressed 
in  her  very  best,  for  she  said  to  herself  that  whatever  her 
poverty,  she  would  look  every  inch  the  lady;  she  looked 
every  inch  the  lady  to-day,  though  she  was  in  her  old  and 
faded  merino.  But  that  had  now  come  to  her  which  made 
her  forget  the  very  existence  of  dress.  The  grand  footman, 
however,  who  answered  her  modest  summons,  being  obtuse 
and  uneducated,  saw  only  the  shabby  dress;  he  thought  she 
was  a  distressed  workwoman,  he  had  forgotten  that  she  had 
ever  come  there  before.  When  she  asked  for  Miss  Harman, 
he  hesitated  and  was  uncertain  whether  she  could  see  his 
young  lady  ;  finally  looking  at  her  again,  he  decided  to  trust 


I98  HOW  I r  ALL  CAME  KOUXD. 

her  so  far  as  to  allow  her  to  wait  in  the  hall  while  he  went 
to  inquire.  Charlotte  gave  her  name,  Mrs.  Home,  and  he 
went  away.  When  he  returned  there  was  a  change  in  his  man 
ner.  Had  he  begun  to  recognize  the  lady  under  the  shabby 
dress  ,  or  had  Charlotte  Harman  said  anything  ?  He  took 
Mrs.  Home  up  to  the  pretty  room  she  had  seen  before,  and 
left  her  there,  saying  that  Miss  Ilannan  would  be  with  her  in 
few  moments.  The  room  looked  just  as  of  old.  Charlotte, 
as  she  waited,  remembered  that  she  hixj  been  jealous  of  this 
pretty  room.  It  was  as  pretty  to-day,  bright  with  fl<. 
gay  with  sunshine  ;  the  same  love-birds  were  in  the  same 
cage,  the  same  canary  sang  in  the  same  window,  the  same 
parrot  swung  lazily  from  the  same  perch.  Over  the  mar.iel- 
piece  hung  the  portrait  in  oils  of  the  pretty  baby,  who  \\  t 
was  not  so  pretty  as  hers.  Charlotte  remembered  how  she 
had  longed  for  these  pretty  things  for  her  children,  but  all 
desire  for  them  had  left  her  now.  There  was  the  rustling  of 
a  silk  dress  heard  in  the  passage,  and  Charlotte  Harman 
carelessly,  but  richly  attired,  came  in.  There  was,  even 
in  their  outward  appearance,  the  full  contrast  between 
the  rich  and  the  poor  observable  at  this  moment,  for 
Charlotte  Harman,  too,  had  absolutely  forgotten  her  dress, 
and  had  allowed  Ward  to  put  on  what  she  chose.  When 
they  were  about  to  reverse  positions,  this  rich  and  this 
poor  woman  stood  side  by  side  in  marked  contrast.  Char 
lotte  Harman  looked  proud  and  cold ;  in  the  moment 
when  she  came  to  plead,  she  held  her  head  high.  Charlotte 
Home,  who  was  to  grant  the  boon,  came  up  timidly, 
almost  humbly.  She  took  the  hands  of  this  girl  whom 
she  loved,  held  them  firmly,  then  gathering  sudden  courage, 
there  burst  from  her  lips  just  the  last  words  she  had  meant 
at  this  moment  to  say. 

"  How  much  I  love  you !  how  much  I  love  you  ! " 
As  these  fervent,  passionate  words  were   almost  flung 
at  her,  Charlotte  Harman's  eyes  began  suddenly  to  dilate. 
After  a  moment  she  said  under  her  breath,  in  a  startled  kind 
of  \\hisper? 

'You  know  all?" 

'  I  know  everything." 

'  Then  you — you  will  save  my  father  ?  " 

'  Absolutely.     You  need  fear  nothing  from  me  or  mine  ; 
in  this  we  are  but  quits.     Did  not  you  save  Harold  ?  " 

"  Ah,"    said   Charlotte    Harman ;    she    took    no    notice 
of  her  friend  and  guest,  she  sat  down  on  the  nearest    chair 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUATD. 


199 


and  covered  her  face.  When  she  raised  her  head,  Mrs. 
Home  was  kneeling  by  her  side. 

"Charlotte,"  said  Miss  Harman — there  was  a  change 
in  her,  the  proud  look  and  bearing  were  gone — "  Charlotte," 
she  said,  "  you  and  I  are  one  age,  but  you  are  a  mother ; 
may  I  lay  my  head  on  your  breast  just  for  a  moment  ? " 

"  Lay  it  there,  my  darling.  As  you  have  got  into  my 
heart  of  hearts,  so  would  I  comfort  you." 

"  Ah,  Charlotte,  how  my  heart  has  beat !  but  your  love 
is  like  a  cool  hand  laid  upon  it,  it  is  growing  quiet." 

"  Charlotte,  you  are  right  in  reminding  me  that  I  am  a 
mother.  I  must  treat  you  as  I  would  my  little  Daisy. 
Daisy  trusts  me  absolutely  and  has  no  fear  ;  you  must  trust 
me  altogether,  and  fear  nothing." 

"  I  do.  I  fear  nothing  when  I  am  with  you.  Charlotte, 
next  Tuesday  was  to  have  been  my  wedding-day." 

"  Yes,  dear." 

"  But  it  is  all  on  an  end  now  ;  I  broke  off  my  engagement 
yesterday.  And  yet,  how  much  I  love  him  !  Charlotte, 
don't  look  at  me  so  pityingly." 

"  Was  I  doing  so  ?  I  was  wondering  if  you  slept  last 
night." 

"  Slept !  No,  people  don't  sleep  when  their  hearts  beat 
as  hard  as  mine  did,  but  I  am  better  now." 

"  Then,  Charlotte,  I  must  prescribe  for  you,  as  a  mother. 
For  the  next  two  hours  you  are  my  child  and  shall  obey  me  ; 
we  have  a  great  deal  to  say  to  each  other ;  but  first  of  all, 
before  we  say  a  single  word,  you  must  lie  on  this  sofa,  and 
I  will  hold  your  hand.  You  shall  try  and  sleep." 

"  But  can  you  spare  the  time  from  your  children  ?  " 

"  You  are  my  child  now  ;  as  long  as  you  want  me  I  will 
stay  with  you.  See,  I  am  going  to  draw  down  the  blinds, 
and  I  will  lock  the  door ;  you  must  not  be  disturbed." 

It  was  thus  that  these  two  spent  the  morning.  When 
Charlotte  Harman  awoke  some  hours  later,  quiet  and  re 
freshed,  they  had  a  long,  long  talk.  That  talk  drew  their 
hearts  still  closer  together  ;  it  was  plain  that  such  a  paltry 
thing  as  money  could  not  divide  these  friends. 


200  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

THE  FATE  OF  A  LETTER. 

HINTON  had  left  the  Harmans'  house,  after  his  strange 
interview  with  Charlotte,  with  a  stunned  feeling.  It  is 
not  too  much  to  say  of  this  young  man  that  he  utterly  failed 
to  realize  what  had  befallen  him.  He  walked  like  one 
in  a  dream,  and  when  he  reached  his  lodgings  in  Jer- 
myn  Street,  and  sat  down  at  last  by  his  hearth,  he  thought 
of  himself  in  a  queer  way,  as  if  he  were  some  one  else  ;  a 
trouble  had  come  to  some  one  else ;  that  some  one 
was  a  friend  of  his  so  he  was  called  on  to  pity  him.  Grad 
ually,  however,  it  dawned  upon  him  that  the  friend  was 
unpleasantly  close,  that  the  some  one  else  reigned  as 
lord  of  his  bosom.  It  was  he — he  himself  he  was  called 
on  to  pity.  It  was  on  his,  hitherto  so  prosperous,  young 
head  that  the  storm  had  burst.  Next  Tuesday  was  to 
have  been  his  wedding-day.  There  was  to  be  no  wed 
ding.  On  next  Tuesday  he  was  to  have  won  a  bride,  a 
wife  ;  that  other  one  dearer  than  himself  was  to  give  herself  to 
him  absolutely.  In  addition  to  this  he  was  to  obtain  for 
tune  :  and  fortune  was  to  lead  to  far  dearer,  far  nobler  fame. 
But  now  all  this  was  at  an  end ;  Tuesday  was  to  pass  as 
any  other  day — gray,  neutral-tinted,  indifferent,  it  was 
to  go  over  his  head.  And  why  ?  This  was  what  caused 
the  sharpest  sting  of  the  anguish.  There  seemed  no 
reason  for  it  all.  Charlotte's  excuse  was  a  poor  one ;  it 
had  not  the  ring  of  the  true  metal  about  it.  Unaccustomed 
to  deceive,  she  had  played  her  part  badly.  She  had  given 
an  excuse ;  but  it  was  no  excuse.  In  this  Hinton  was 
not  blinded,  even  for  a  moment.  His  Charlotte  !  There, 
seemed  a  flaw  in  the  perfect  creature.  His  Charlotte 
had  a  second  time  turned  away  her  confidence  from  him. 
Yes,  here  was  the  sting ;  in  her  trouble  she  would  not  let 
him  comfort  her.  What  was  the  matter  ?  What  was  the 
mystery?  What  was  the  hidden  wrong? 

Hinton  roused  himself  now.  As  thought  and  clearness 
of  judgment  came  more  vividly  back  to  him,  his  anger 
grew  and  his  pity  lessened.  His  mind  was  brought  to 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  2oi 

bear  upon  a  secret,  for  there  was  a  hidden  secret.  His 
remembrance  travelled  back  to  all  that  had  happened 
since  the  day  their  marriage  was  fixed — since  the  day 
when  he  first  saw  a  troubled  look  on  Charlotte's  face — 
and  she  had  told  him,  though  unwillingly,  that  queer  story 
of  Mrs.  Home's.  Yes,  of  course,  he  knew  there  was  a 
mystery — a  strange  and  dark  mystery ;  like  a  coward 
he  had  turned  away  from  investigating  it.  lie  had  seen 
Uncle  Jasper's  nervous  fear ;  he  had  seen  Mrs.  Home's 
poverty ;  he  had  witnessed  Mr.  Harman's  ill-concealed 
disquietude — all  this  he  had  seen,  all  this  he  had  known. 
But  for  Charlotte's  sake,  for  he  had  shut  his  eyes  ;  Char 
lotte's  sake  he  had  forbidden  his  brain  to  think  or  his  hands 
to  work. — 

And  now — now — ah  !  light  was  dawning.  Charlotte  had 
fathomed  what  he  had  feared  to  look  at.  Charlotte  had  seen 
the  dread  reality.  The  secret  was  disgraceful.  Nothing  else 
could  so  have  changed  his  one  love.  Nothing  but  disgrace, 
the  disgrace  of  the  one  nearest  to  her,  could  bring  that  look 
to  her  face.  Scarcely  had  he  thought  this  before  a  memory 
came  to  him.  He  started  to  his  feet  as  it  came  back.  Char 
lotte  had  said,  "  Before  our  wedding-day  I  will  read  my  grand 
father's  will."  Suppose  she  had  done  so,  and  her  grand 
father's  will  had  been — what?  Hinton  began  to  see  reason 
now  in  her  unaccountable  determination  not  to  see  Webster. 
She  had  doubtless  resolved  on  that  very  day  to  go  to  Somer 
set  House  and  read  that  fatal  document.  Having  made  up 
her  mind  she  would  not  swerve  from  her  purpose.  Then, 
though  she  was  firm  in  her  determination,  her  face  had  been 
bright,  her  brow  unfurrowed,  she  had  still  been  his  own  dear 
and  happy  Charlotte.  He  had  not  seen  her  again  until  she 
knew  all.  She  knew  all,  and  her  heart  and  spirit  were  alike 
broken.  As  this  fact  became  clear  to  Hinton,  a  sense  of 
relief  and  peace  came  over  him ;  he  began  once  more  to  un 
derstand  the  woman  he  loved.  Beside  the  darkness  of  mis 
understanding  her,  all  other  misunderstandings  seemed  light. 
She  was  still  his  love,  his  life ;  she  was  still  true  to  herself, 
to  t-_e  beautiful  ideal  he  had  enthroned  in  his  heart  of  hearts. 
Poor  darling  !  she  would  suffer  ;  but  he  must  escape.  Loving 
him  as  deeply,  as  devotedly  as  ever,  she  yet  would  give  him 
up,  rather  than  that  he  should  share  in  the  downfall  of  her 
house.  Ah  !  she  did  not  know  him.  She  could  be  great ; 
but  so  also  could  he.  Charlotte  should  see  that  her  love  was 
no  light  thing  for  any  man  to  relinquish  :  she  would  find  that 


202  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

it  weighed  heavier  in  the  balance  than  riches,  than  fame  ; 
that  disgrace  even  could  not  crush  it  down.  Knowing  all, 
he  would  go  to  her  ;  she  should  not  be  alone  in  her  great, 
great  trouble  ;  she  should  find  out  in  her  hour  of  need  the 
kind  of  man  whose  heart  she  had  won.  His  depression  left 
him  as  he  came  to  this  resolve,  and  he  scarcely  spent  even 
an  anxious  night.  On  the  next  day,  however,  he  did  not  go 
to  Charlotte ;  but  about  noon  he  sat  down  and  wrote  her  the 
following  letter  : — 

"  MY  DARLING  : 

"  You  gave  me  up  yesterday.  I  was — I  don't  mind  tell 
ing  you  this  now — stunned,  surprised,  pained.  Since  then, 
however,  I  have  thought  much  ;  all  my  thought  has  been 
about  you.  Thought  sometimes  leads  to  light,  and  light  has 
come  to  me.  Charlotte,  a  contract  entered  into  by  two  takes 
two  to  undo.  I  refuse  to  undo  this  contract.  Charlotte,  I 
refuse  to  give  you  up.  You  are  my  promised  wife  ;  our  banns 
have  been  read  twice  in  church  already.  Have  you  forgot 
ten  this  ?  In  the  eyes  of  both  God  and  man  you  are  almost 
mine.  To  break  off  this  engagement,  unless  I,  too,  wished 
it,  would  be,  whatever  your  motive,  a  sin.  Charlotte,  the 
time  has  come,  when  we  may  ruin  all  the  happiness  of  both 
our  lives,  unless  very  plain  words  pass  between  us.  I  use 
very  plain  words  when  I  tell  you  that  I  most  absolutely  refuse 
to  give  you  up.  That  being  so,  whatever  your  motive,  you 
are  committing  a  sin  in  refusing  to  give  yourself  to  me.  My 
darling,  it  is  you  I  want,  not  your  money — you — not — not — 
But  I  will  add  no  more,  except  one  thing.  Charlotte,  I  went 
this  morning  to  Somerset  House,  and  I  read yoitr  grand 
father's  will. 

"  Now,  what  hour  shall  I  come  to  you  ?  Any  hour  you 
name  I  will  fly  to  you.  It  is  impossible  for  you  to  refuse 
what  I  demand  as  a  right.  But  know  that,  if  you  do  refuse, 
I  will  come  notwithstanding. 

"  Yours  ever, 

"JOHN  HINTON." 

This  letter,  being  directed,  was  quickly  posted,  and  m 
due  time  reached  its  address  at  Prince's  Gate. 

Then  a  strange  thing  happened  to  it.  Jasper  Harman, 
passing  through  the  hall,  saw  the  solitary  letter  waiting  for 
his  niece.  It  was  his  habit  to  examine  every  letter  that 
came  within  his  reach  ;  he  took  up  this  one  for  no  particular 
reason,  but  simply  from  the  force  of  this  long  established 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


203 


habit.  But  having  taken  it  in  his  hand,  he  knew  the  writing. 
The  letter  was  from  Hinton,  and  Charlotte  had  told  him — 
had  just  told  him — that  her  engagement  with  Hinton  was 
broken  off,  that  her  wedding  was  not  to  be.  Old  Jasper  was 
beset  just  now  by  a  thousand  fears,  and  Charlotte's  manner 
and  Charlotte's  words  had  considerably  added  to  his  alarm. 
There  was  a  mystery ;  Charlotte  could  not  deny  that  fact. 
This  letter  might  elucidate  it — might  throw  light  where  so 
much  was  needed.  Jasper  Harman  felt  that  the  contents  of 
Hinton's  letter  might  do  him  good  and  ease  his  mind.  With 
out  giving  himself  an  instant's  time  for  reflection,  he  took  the 
letter  into  the  dining-room,  and,  opening  it,  read  what  was 
meant  for  another.  He  had  scarcely  done  so  before  Char 
lotte  unexpectedly  entered  the  room.  To  save  himself  from 
discovery,  when  he  heard  her  step,  he  dropped  the  letter 
into  the  fire.  Thus  Charlotte  never  got  her  lover's  letter. 

Hinton,  bravely  as  he  had  spoken,  was,  nevertheless, 
pained  at  her  silence.  After  waiting  for  twenty-four  hours 
he,  however,  resolved  to  be  true  to  his  word.  He  had  said 
to  Charlotte,  "  If  you  refuse  what  I  demand  as  a  right,  never 
theless  I  shall  exercise  my  right.  I  will  come  to  you."  But 
he  went  with  a  strange  sinking  of  heart,  and  when  he  got  to 
Prince's  Gate  and  was  not  admitted  he  scarcely  felt  surprised. 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

"THE  WAY  OF  TRANSGRESSORS." 

IT  is  one  of  those  everlasting  truths,  which  experience 
and  life  teach  us  every  day,  that  sin  brings  its  own  punishment, 
virtue  its  own  reward  :  peace,  the  great  divine  reward  of  con 
science  to  the  virtuous ;  misery  and  despair,  and  that  con 
stant  apprehension  which  dreads  discovery,  and  yet  which  in 
itself  is  worse  than  discovery,  to  the  transgressors. 

"The  way  of  transgressors  is  hard." 

That  Bible  text  was  proving  itself  once  more  now  in  the 
cases  of  two  old  men.  John  Harman  was  sinking  into  his 
grave  in  anguish  at  the  thought  of  facing  an  angry  God  : 
Jasper  Harman  was  preparing  to  fly  from  what,  alas !  he 
dreaded  more,  the  faces  of  his  angry  fellow-creatures. 


304 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


Yes ;  it  had  come  to  this  with  Jasper  Harman  ;  England 
had  become  too  hot  to  hold  him  ;  better  fly  while  he  could. 
Ever  since  the  day  Hinton  had  told  him  that  he  had  really 
and  in  truth  heard  of  the  safe  arrival  of  the  other  trustee, 
Jasper's  days  and  nights  had  been  like  hell  to  him.  In  the 
morning,  he  had  wondered  would  the  evening  find  him  still 
a  free  man  ;  in  the  evening,  he  had  trembled  at  what  might 
befall  him  before  the  morning  dawned.  Unaccustomed  to 
any  mental  anguish,  his  health  began  to  give  way  .  his  heart 
beat  irregularly,  unevenly  ,  he  lost  his  appetite ;  at  night  he 
either  had  bad  dreams  or  he  could  not  sleep.  This  change 
began  to  tell  upon  his  appearance  ;  his  hair  grew  thinner  and 
whiter,  he  stooped  as  he  walked,  there  was  very  little  appa 
rent  difference  now  between  him  and  John. 

He  could  not  bear  the  Harman's  house,  for  there  he 
might  meet  Hinton.  He  dreaded  his  office  in  the  City,  for 
there  the  other  trustee  might  follow  him  and  publicly  expose 
him.  He  liked  his  club  best ;  but  even  there  he  felt  scarcely 
safe,  some  one  might  get  an  inkling  of  the  tale,  there  was  no 
saying  how  soon  such  a  story,  so  strange,  so  disgraceful,  per 
taining  to  so  well-known  a  house  as  that  of  Harman 
Brothers,  might  get  bruited  about.  Thus  it  came  to  pass 
that  there  was  no  place  where  this  wretched  old  man  felt 
safe  ;  it  became  more  and  more  clear  to  him  day  by  day  that 
England  was  too  hot  to  hold  him.  All  these  growing  feel 
ings  culminated  in  a  sudden  accession  of  terror  on  the  day 
that  Charlotte,  with  her  strangely  changed  face,  had  asked 
him  the  truth  with  regard  to  her  father's  case,  when,  with 
the  persistence  of  almost  despair,  she  had  insisted  on  know 
ing  the  very  worst ;  then  had  quickly  followed  the  announce 
ment  that  her  marriage  had  been  broken  off  by  herself ;  that 
it  was  postponed,  her  father  thought,  simply  for  the  short  re 
maining  span  of  his  own  life ;  but  Charlotte  had  taken  little 
pains  to  conceal  from  Uncle  Jasper  that  she  now  never  meant 
to  marry  Hinton.  What  was  the  reason  of  it  all  ?  Jasper 
Harman,  too,  as  well  as  Hinton,  was  not  deceived  by  the 
reason  given.  There  was  something  more  behind.  What 
was  that  something  more  ? 

In  his  terror  and  perplexity,  Jasper  opened  Hinton's 
letter.  One  sentence  in  that  letter,  never  meant  for  him, 
burnt  into  the  unhappy  man  as  the  very  fire  of  hell. 

"  I  went  this  morning  to  Somerset  House,  and  I  read 
your  grandfather's  will." 

Then  Jasper's  worst  fears  had  come  true  ;  the  discovery 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


205 


was  made  ;  the  hidden  sin  brought  to  the  light,  the  sinners 
would  be  dragged  any  moment  to  punishment. 

Jasper  must  leave  England  that  very  night.  Never  again 
could  he  enter  his  brother's  house.  He  must  fly ;  he  must 
fly  at  once  and  in  secret,  for  it  would  never  do  to  take  any 
one  into  his  confidence.  Jasper  Harman  had  a  hard  and  evil 
heart ;  he  was  naturally  cold  and  unloving  ;  but  he  had  one 
affection,  he  did  care  for  his  brother.  In  mortal  terror 
as  he  was,  he  could  not  leave  that  dying  brother  without  bid 
ding  him  good-bye. 

John  Harman  had  not  gone  to  the  City  that  day,  and  when 
Charlotte  left  the  room,  Jasper,  first  glancing  at  the  grate  to 
make  sure  that  Hinton's  letter  was  all  reduced  to  ashes,  stole, 
in  his  usual  soft  and  gliding  fashion,  to  John's  study.  He 
was  pleased  to  see  his  brother  there,  and  alone. 

"  You  are  early  back  from  the  City,  Jasper,"  said  the 
elder  brother. 

"  Yes  ;  there  was  nothing  to  keep  me  this  afternoon,  so  I 
did  not  stay." 

The  two  old  men  exchanged  a  few  more  commonplaces. 
They  were  now  standing  by  tlie  hearth.  Suddenly  John 
Harman,  uttering  a  half-suppressed  groan,  resumed  his  seat. 

"  It  is  odd,"  he  said,  "  how  the  insidious  something  which 
men  call  Death  seems  to  grow  nearer  to  me  day  by  day. 
Now,  as  we  stood  together,  I  felt  just  a  touch  of  the  cold 
hand  ;  the  touch  was  but  a  feather  weight,  but  any  instant  it 
will  come  down  like  a  giant  on  its  prey.  It  is  terrible  to 
stand  as  I  do,  looking  into  the  face  of  Death ;  I  mean  it  is 
terrible  for  one  like  me." 

"  You  are  getting  morbid,  John,"  said  Jasper  ;  "  you  always 
were  given  to  look  on  the  dismals.  If  you  must  die,  as  I 
suppose  and  fear  you  must,  why  don't  you  rouse  yourself  and 
enjoy  life  while  you  may  ?  " 

To  this  John  Harman  made  no  answer.  After  a  moment 
or  two  of  silence,  during  which  Jasper  watched  him  nervous 
ly,  he  said, — 

"  As  you  have  come  back  so  early  from  the  City,  can  you 
give  me  two  hours  now  ?  I  have  a  great  deal  I  want  to  say  to 
you." 

"About  the  past  ?  "  questioned  Jasper. 

"  About  the  past." 

Jasper  Harman  paused  and  hesitated  ;  he  knew  well  that 
he  should  never  see  his  brother  again  ;  that  this  was  his  last 
request.  But  dare  he  stay  ?  Two  hours  were  very  precious, 


2o6  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

and  the  avenger  might  even  r.o'.v  -  .  the  door.  No;  he 
could  not  waste  time  so  precious  in  ibtu.ing  to  an  old,  old 
tale. 

"  Will  two  ho  .  /cuing  do  equally  \vell,  John  ?  " 

"  Yes ,   -i  you  prefer  it.      I  generally  give  the  evening  to 
Charlotte  ;  but  this  evening,  if  it  suits  you  better." 
_  will  go  now,  then,"  said  Jasper. 

.rlotte  has  told  you  of  her  resolve  ? '; 

"  Yes,  and  I  have  spoken  to  her;  but  she  :.  -  obstinate 
ninx." 

"  Do  not  call  her  so  ;  it  is  because  of  her  love  fc--  ne.    I  am 
-orry  that  she  will  not  marry  at  once  ;  but  it  is  not;  i,fter  all,  a 
ong  postponement  and  it  is  I  own,  a  relief,   not  ;c  ~ave  to 
;nceal  my  state  of  health  from  her." 

"  It   is   useless   arguing    with    a  woman,"   s:.!:!     usper. 
,11,  good-bye,  John." 

"Good-bye,"  said  the  elder  Harman,  in  some  su/o:ise 
..Jiat  Jasper's  hand  was  held  out  to  him. 

Jasper's  keen  eyes  looked  hard  into  John's  for  a  moment, 
..-Je  wrung  the  thin  hand  and  left  the  room.  He  had  left  for 
:ver  the  one  human  being  he  loved,  and  even  in  his  thrcai 
./as  a  lump  caused  by  something  else  than  fear.  But  in  the 
ctreet  and  well  outside  that  luxurious  home,  his  love  sank  out 
zl  sight  and  his  fear  returned  ;  he  must  get  out  of  England 
jhat  very  night,  and  he  had  much  to  do. 

He  pulled  out  his  watch.  Yes,  there  was  still  time. 
Hailing  a  passing  hansom  he  jumped  into  it,  and  drove  to 
his  bank.  There,  to  the  astonishment  of  the  cashier,  he  drew 
all  the  money  he  kept  there.  This  amounted  to  some  thou 
sands.  Jasper  buttoned  the  precioiis  notes  into  a  pocket-book 
Then  he  went  to  his  lodgings  anu  began  the  task  of  tearing 
up  letters  and  papers  which 'he  feared  might  betray  hirr. 
Hitherto,  all  through  his  life  he  had  kept  these  things  pre 
cious ;  but  now  they  all  went,  even  to  his  mother's  portrait  ana 
the  few  letters  she  had  written  to  him  when  a  boy  at  school. 
Even  he  sighed  as  he  cast  these  treasures  into  the  fire  and 
watched  them  being  reduced  to  ashes ;  but  though  they  had 
gone  with  him  from  place  to  place  in  Australia,  and  he  had 
hoped  never  ';o  part  from  them,  he  must  give  them  up  now, 
for,  innocent  ?.s  they  looked,  they  might  appeal  against  him. 
He  must  give  ip  all  the  past,  name  and  all,  for  was  he  not 
flying  from  the  avengers  ?  flying  because  o?  Ms  sir?.?  Ohf 
surely  the  way  of  transgressors  was  haH 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 


CHARLOTTE  HARMAN's  COMFORT. 

JASPER  HARMAN  did  not  come  to  his  brother's  house  that 
night,  but  about  th;  time  he  might  expected  tc  arrive  there 
came  a  note  from  him  instead.  It  was  plausibly  written,  and 
gave  a  plausible  excuse  for  his  absence.  He  told  John  of 
sudden  tiding^  with  regard  to  some  toreign  ousmess  These 
tidings  were  really  true.  Jasper  said  that  a  confidential  c^erl: 
had  gone  to  the  foreign  port  where  tney  dealt  to  .nquir?  r  to 
this  specia^  matter,  but  that  ne  tnougnt  it  best,  as  the  ~t?vces 
at  issue  were  large,  to  go  also  himself,  to  inquire  personal. 
He  would  not  oe  long  away,  &c.  &c.  He  would  write  when 
to  expect  his  return.  It  was  a  letter  so  cleverly  Dtit  together, 
as  to  cause  no  alarm  to  any  one.  J  ohn  Harman  reac  it,  foid- 
ed  it  up,  and  tola  Charlotte  that  they  need  not  expec'  Jasper  n 
Jinnee's  Gate  for  at  least  a  week.  The  week  passed,  and 
though  Jasper  had  neither  come  nor  written,  there  was  ro  ?.n- 
Xiety  felt  on  his  account.  in  the  mean  time  affairs  had  out 
wardly  calmec  down  m  Prince  s  Gate.  The  agitation,  which 
hac  oeen  feit  even  oy  the  numblest  servant  m  tne  establish 
ment  aaa  ceased.  Everything  nad  returned  tc  its  accustom- 
ea  groove.  The  nine  days'  wonder  of  that  put  off  wedding 
nar1  ceased  to  be  a  wonder.  It  stiL,  it  is  true,  gave  zest  to 
conversation  in  the  servants'  hall;  out.  upstairs  it  was  never 
mentioned.  The  even  routine  of  daily  life  haa  resumed  its 
sway,  ana  things  looked  something  as  as  they  did  before,  ex 
cept  that  Mr.  Harman  PTCW  t^  all  eyer  perceptibly  weaker 
that  Charlotte  was  very  grav,  and  pale  and  quiet,  that  old 
Uncle  Jasper  was  no  longer  in  and  out  of  the  house,  and  that 
John  Hinton  never  came  near  it.  The  luxurious  house  in 
Prince's  Gate  was  unquestionably  very  dull ;  but  otherwise 
no  one  could  guess  that  there  was  anything  specially  amiss 
there. 

On  a  certain  morning,  Charlotte  got  up,  put  on  her  walk 
ing  things,  and  went  out.  She  had  not  been  out  of  doors  for 
a  week,  and  a  sudden  longing  to  be  alone  in  the  fresh  outer 
world  came  over  her  too  strongly  to  be  rejected.  She  called 


208  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUXD. 

a  hansom  and  once  more  drove  to  her  favorite  Regent's  Park. 
The  park  was  now  in  all  the  full  beauty  and  glory  of  its  spring 
dress,  and  Charlotte  sat  down  under  the  green  and  pleasant 
shade  of  a  wide  spreading  oak-tree.  She  folded  her  hands 
in  her  lap  and  gazed  straight  before  her.  She  had  lived 
throught  one  storm,  but  she  knew  that  another  was  before 
her.  The  sky  overhead  was  still  gray  and  lov.-erinr^ ;  there 
was  scarcely  even  peace  in  this  brief  lull  in  the  tempest.  In 
the  first  sudden  fierceness  of  the  storm  she  had  acted  nobly 
and  bravely,  but  now  that  the  excitement  v.  as  pasi, 
coming  to  her  a  certain  hardening  of  heart,  and  she  was 
beginning  to  doubt  the  goodness  of  God.  At  first,  most  trr.ly 
she  had  scarcely  thought  of  herself  at  all,  but  it  was  impossi 
ble  as  the  days  went  on  for  her  not  to  make  a  moan  over  her 
own  altered  life.  The  path  before  her  looked  very  dark,  and 
Charlotte's  feet  had  hitherto  been  unaccustomed  to  gloom. 
She  was  looking  forward  to  the  death,  the  inevitable  and 
certainly  approaching  death  of  her  father.  That  was  bad, 
that  was  dreadful  ;  but  bad  and  dreadful  as  it  would  be  to 
say  good-bye  to  the  old  man,  what  must  follow  would  be 
worse  ;  however  she  might  love  him,  however  tenderly  she 
might  treat  him,  during  his  few  remaining  days  or  weeks  of 
life,  when  all  was  over  and  he  could  return  no  more  to  receive 
men's  praise  or  blame,  then  she  must  disgrace  him,  she  must 
hold  him  up  for  the  world's  scorn.  It  would  be  impossible 
even  to  hope  that  the  story  would  not  be  known,  ana  once 
known  it  would  heap  dishonor  on  the  old  head  she  loved. 
For  Charlotte,  though  she  saw  the  sin,  though  the  sin  itself 
was  most  terrible  and  horrible  to  her,  was  still  near  enough 
to  Christ  in  her  nature  to  forgive  the  sinner.  She  had  suf 
fered  ;  oh,  how  bitterly  through  this  man  !  but  none  the  less 
for  this  reason  did  she  love  him.  But  there  was  another 
cause  for  her  heartache  ;  and  this  was  more  personal.  Hinton 
and  she  were  parted.  That  was  right.  Any  other  course  for 
her  to  have  pursued  would  have  been  most  distinctly  wrong. 
But  none  the  less  did  her  heart  ache  and  feel  very  sore  ;  for 
how  easily  had  Hinton  acquiesced  in  her  decision  !  She  did 
not  even  know  of  his  visit  to  the  house.  That  letter,  which 
would  have  been,  whatever  its  result,  like  balm  to  her  wound 
ed  spirit,  had  never  reached  her.  Hinton  was  most  plainly 
satisfied  that  they  should  meet  no  more.  Doubtless  it  was 
best ,  doubtless  in  the  end  it  would  prove  the  least  hard 
course  ;  but  none  the  less  did  hot  tears  fall  now  ;  none  the 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


209 


less  heavy  was  her  heart.  She  was  wiping  away  a  tear  or 
two,  and  thinking  these  very  sad  thoughts,  when  a  clear  little 
voice  in  her  ear  startled  her. 

"  My  pretty  lady  !  "  said  the  sweet  voice,  and  looking  round 
Charlotte  saw  little  Harold  Home  standing  by  her  side. 
Charlotte  had  not  seen  Harold  since  his  illness.  He  had  grown 
taller  and  thinner  than  of  old,  but  his  loving  eyes  were  fixed 
on  her  face,  and  now  his  small  brown  hands  beat  impatiently 
upon  her  knees. 

"  Daisy  and  Angus  are  just  round  the  corner,"  he  whisper 
ed.  "  Let  us  play  a  game"  of  hide  and  seek,  shall  we  ?  " 

He  pulled  her  hand  as  he  spoke,  and  Charlotte  got  up  to 
humor  him  at  once.  They  went  quickly  round  to  the  other 
side  of  the  great  oak-tree,  Harold  sitting  down  on  the  grass 
pulled  Charlotte  to  his  side. 

"  Ah  !  don't  speak,"  he  said,  and  he  put  his  arms  round 
her  neck. 

She  found  the  feel  of  the  little  arms  strangely  comforting, 
and  when  a  moment  or  two  afterwards  the  others  discovered 
them  and  came  close  with  peals  of  merry  laughter,  she 
yielded  at  once  to  Harold's  eager  request. 

"  May  they  go  for  a  walk  for  half  an  hour,  and  may  I 
stay  with  you,  pretty  lady  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  stooping  down  to  kiss  him. 

Anne  promised  to  return  at  the  right  time,  and  Charlotte 
and  Harold  were  alone.  The  boy,  nestling  close  to  her  side, 
began  to  chatter  confidentially. 

"  I'm  so  glad  I  came  across  you,"  he  said;  "you  looked 
very  dull  when  I  came  up,  and  it  must  be  nice  for  you  to 
have  me  to  talk  to,  and  'tis  very  nice  for  me  too,  for  I  am 
fond  of  you." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that,  Harold,"  said  Charlotte. 

"  But  I  don't  think  you  are  quite  such  a  pretty  lady  as 
you  were,"  continued  the  boy,  raising  his  eyes  to  her  face 
and  examining  her  critically.  "  Mr.  Hinton  and  I  used  to 
think  you  were  perfectly  lovely  !  You  were  so  brighi, — yes, 
bright  is  the  word.  Something  like  a  dear  pretty  cherry,  or 
like  my  little  canary  when  he's  singing  his  very,  very 
best.  But  you  ain't  a  bit  like  my  canary  to-day  ;  you  have 
no  sing  in  you  to-day  ;  ain't  you  happy,  my  pretty  lady  ?  " 

"  I  have  had  some  trouble  since  I  saw  you  last,  Harold," 
said  Charlotte. 

"  Dear,  dear  ! "  sighed  Harold,  "  everybody  seems  to 
fcave  lots  of  trouble.  I  wonder  why.  No ;  I  don't  think 


2io  HOW  JT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

Mr.  Hinton  would  think  you  pretty  to-day.  But,"  as  a  sud 
den  thought  and  memory  came  over  him — "  I  suppose  you 
are  married  by  this  time  ?  Aren't  you  married  to  my  Mr. 
Hinton  by  this  time  ? 

"  No,  dear,"  answered  Charlotte. 

"  But  why  ?  "  questioned  the  inquisitive  boy. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  cannot  tell  you  that,  Harold." 

Harold  was  silent  for  about  half  a'  minute.  He  was  sit 
ting  down  on  the  grass  close  to  Charlotte,  and  his  head  was 
leaning  against  her  shoulder.  After  a  moment  he  continued 
with  a  sigh, — 

"  I  guess  he's  very  sorry.  He  and  I  used  to  talk  about 
you  so  at  night  when  I  had  the  fever.  I  knew  then  he  was 
fond  of  you,  nearly  as  fond  as  I  am  myself." 

"  I  am  glad  little  Harold  Home  loves  me,"  said  Charlotte, 
soothed  by  the  pretty  boy's  talk,  and  again  she  stooped 
down  to  kiss  him. 

"But  even-body  does,"  said  the  boy.  "There's  father 
and  mother,  and  my  Mr.  Hinton  and  me,  myself,  and  above 
all,  the  blessed  Jesus." 

A  strange  feeling,  half  pleasure,  half  surprise,  came  over 
Charlotte. 

"  How  do  you  know  about  that  last  ?  "  she  whispered. 

"  Of  course  I  know,"  replied  Harold.  "  I  know  quite  well. 
\  heard  father  and  mother  say  it ;  I  heard  them  say  it  quite 
plainly  one  day,  '  She's  one  of  those  blessed  ones  whom 
Jesus  Christ  loves  very  much.'  Oh  dear  !  I  wish  the  chil 
dren  weren't  back  so  dreadfully  soon." 

Yes,  the  children  and  Anne  had  returned,  and  Harold 
had  to  say  good-bye,  and  Charlotte  herself  had  to  retrace 
her  steps  homewards.  But  her  walk  had  not  been  for  noth 
ing,  and  there  was  a  new  peace,  a  new  quiet,  and  a  new  hope 
in  her  heart.  The  fact  was,  she  just  simply,  without  doubt 
or  difficulty,  believed  the  child.  Little  Harold  Home  had 
brought  her  some  news.  The  news  was  strange,  new,  and 
wonderful  ;  she  did  not  doubt  it.  Faithful,  and  therefore  full 
of  faith,  was  this  simple  and  upright  nature.  There  was  no 
difficulty  in  her  believing  a  fact.  What  Harold  said  was  a 
fact.  She  was  one  of  those  whom  Jesus  loved.  Straight  did 
this  troubled  soul  fly  to  the  God  of  consolation.  Her  religion 
from  being  a  dead  thing  began  to  live.  She  was  not  friend 
less,  she  was  not  alone,  she  had  a  friend  who,  knowing  abso 
lutely  all,  still  loved.  At  that  moment  Charlotte  Harman 
put  her  hand  into  the  hand  of  Christ. 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  2I1 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 
THE  CHILDREN'S  ATTIC. 

IT  was  one  thing  for  Alexander  Wilson  to  agree  to  let 
matters  alone  for  the  present,  and  by  so  doing  to  oblige  both 
Charlotte  Home  and  Charlotte  Harman,  but  it  was  quite  an 
other  thing  for  him  to  see  his  niece,  his  own  Daisy's  child, 
suffering  from  poverty.  Sandy  had  been  accustomed  to 
roughing  it  in  the  Australian  bush.  He  had  known  what  it 
was  to  go  many  hours  without  food,  and  when  that  food 
could  be  obtained  it  was  most  generally  of  the  coarsest  and 
commonest  quality.  He  had  known,  too,  what  the  cold  of 
lying  asleep  in  the  open  air  meant.  All  that  an  ordinary 
man  could  endure  had  Sandy  pulled  through  in  his  efforts  to 
make  a  fortune.  He  had  never  grumbled  at  these  hard 
ships,  they  had  passed  over  him  lightly.  He  would,  he  con 
sidered,  have  been  less  than  man  to  have  complained.  But 
nevertheless,  when  he  entered  the  Home's  house,  and  took 
possession  of  the  poorly-furnished  bedroom,  and  sat  down 
day  after  day  to  the  not  too  abundant  meals  ;  when  he  saw 
pretty  little  Daisy  cry  because  her  mother  could  not  give  her 
just  what  was  most  nourishing  for  her  breakfast,  and  Harold, 
still  pale  and  thin,  having  to  do  without  the  beef-tea  which 
the  doctor  had  ordered  for  him  ;  when  Sandy  saw  these 
things  his  heart  waxed  hot,  and  a  great  grumbling  fit  took 
possession  of  his  kindly,  genial  soul.  This  grumbling  fit 
reached  its  culminating  point,  when  one  day — mother,  chil 
dren,  and  maid  all  out — he  stole  up  softly  to  the  children's 
nursery.  This  small  attic  room,  close  to  the  roof,  low, 
^..sufficiently  ventilated,  was  altogether  too  much  for  Sandy. 
The  time  had  come  for  him  to  act,  and  he  was  never  the  man 
10  shirk  action  in  any  way.  Charlotte  Harman  was  all  very 
well  ;  that  dying  father  of  hers,  whom  he  pronounced  a  most 
atrocious  sinner,  and  took  pleasure  in  so  thinking  him,  he 
also  was  well  enough,  but  everything  could  not  give  way  to 
them.  Though  for  the  present  Mr.  Harman's  money  could 
not  be  touched  for  the  Home's  relief,  yet  Sandy's  own  purse 
was  open,  and  that  purse,  he  flattered  himself,  was  somewhat 


2i2  HOW  IT  ALL  CAMi:  RO(  .\D. 

comfortably  lined.  Yes,  he  must  do  something,  and  at  once. 
Having  examined  with  marked  disgust  the  children's  attic, 
he  marched  down  the  street.  Tremins  Road  was  long  and 
narrow,  but  leading  out  of  it  wa?  a  row  of  fine  new  houses. 
These  houses  were  about  double  the  size  of  number  ten, 
were  nicely  finished,  and  though  many  of  them  were  already 
taken,  two  or  three  had  boards  up,  announcing  that  'they 
were  still  to  let.  Sandy  saw  the  agent's  name  on  the  board, 
and  went  off  straight  to  consult  with  him.  The  result  of  this 
consultation  was  that  in  half  an  hor.r  he  and  the  agent  were 
all  over  the  new  house.  Sandy  went  down  to  the  basement, 
and  thought  himself  particularly  knowing  in  poking  his  nose 
into  corners,  in  examining  the  construction  of  the  kitchen- 
range,  and  expecting  a  copper  for  washing  purposes  to  be 
put  up  in  the  scullery.  Upstairs  he  selected  a  large  and 
bright  room,  the  \vindov.-s  of  which  commanded  a  peep  of 
distant  country.  Here  his  pretty  little  Pet  Daisy  might  play 
happily,  and  get  back  her  rosy  cheeks,  and  sleep  well  at 
night  without  coming  downstairs  heavy-eyed  to  breakfast. 
Finally  he  took  the  house  on  the  spot,  and  ordered  in  paper- 
ers  and  painters  for  the  following  Monday. 

He  was  asked  if  he  would  like  to  choose  the  papers. 
"Certainly,"  he  replied,  inwardly  resolving  that  the  nursery 
should  be  covered  with  pictures.  He  appointed  an  hour  on 
Monday  for  his  selections.  This  day  was  Saturday.  He  then 
went  to  the  landlord  of  No.  10,  Tremins  Road,  and  made  an 
arrangement  for  the  remainder  of  the  Homes'  lease.  This 
arrangement  cost  him  some  money,  but  he  reflected  again 
with  satisfaction  that  his  purse  was  well  lined. -So  far  he  had 
conducted  his  plans  without  difficultv.  But  his  next  step  was 
not  so  easy ;  without  saying  a  word  to  eiiher  Charlotte  or 
her  husband,  he  had  deprived  them  of  one  home,  while  pro 
viding  them  with  another.  No  doubt  the  new  home  was 
vastly  superior  to  the  old.  But  still  it  came  into  his  mind 
that  they  might  consider  his  action  in  the  light  of  a  liberty  ; 
in  short,  that  this  very  peculiar  and  unworldly  couple  mi^ht 
be  capable  of  taking  huff  and  might  refuse  to  go  at  his  bid 
ding.  Sandy  set  his  wits  to  work  over  this  problem,  and 
finally  he  concocted  a  scheme.  He  must  come  round  this 
pair  by  guile.  He  thought  and  thought,  and  in  the  evening 
when  her  husband  was  out  he  had  a  long  talk  with  his  niece. 
By  a  few  judiciously  chosen  words  he  contrived  to  frighten 
Charlotte  about  her  husband's  health.  He  remarked  that 
he  looked  ill,  worn,  very  much  older  than  his  years.  He 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


213 


said,  with  a  sigh,  that  when  a  man  like  Home  broke  down 
he  never  got  up  again.  He  was  undermining  his  constitu 
tion.  When  had  he  had  a  change  ? 

"  Never  once  since  we  were  married,"  answered  the  wife 
with  tears  in  her  eyes. 

Sandy  shook  his  head  very  sadly  and  gravely  over  this, 
and  after  a  moment  of  reflection  brought  out  his  scheme. 

Easter  was  now  over,  there  was  no  special  press  of  parish 
work.  Surely  Homes'  Rector  would  give  him  a  holiday,  and 
allow  him  to  get  away  from  Monday  to  Saturday  night  ?  Why 
not  run  away  to  Margate  for  those  six  days,  and  take  his  wife 
and  three  children  with  him  ?  No,  they  need  take  no  maid, 
for  he,  Uncle  Sandy,  having  proposed  this  plan  must  be 
answerable  for  the  expense.  He  would  put  them  all  up  at  a 
good  hotel,  and  Anne  could  stay  at  home  to  take  care  of 
him.  Of  course  to  this  scheme  there  were  many  objections 
raised.  But,  finally,  the  old  Australian  overruled  them  each 
and  all.  The  short  leave  was  granted  by  the  Rector.  The 
rooms  at  the  hotel  which  commanded  the  best  sea-view  were 
taken  by  Sandy,  and  the  Homes  left  10  Tremins  Road,  little 
guessing  that  they  were  not  to  return  there.  When  he  had 
seen  father,  mother,  and  three  happy  little  children  off  by  an 
early  train,  Sandy  returned  quickly  to  Tremins  Road.  There 
he  called  Anne  to  him,  and  unfolded  to  the  trembling  and 
astonished  girl  his  scheme. 

"  We  have  to  be  in  the  new  house  as  snug  as  snug  by 
Saturday  night,  my  girl,"  he  said  in  conclusion.  "  We  have 
to  bring  away  what  is  worth  moving  of  this  furniture,  and  it 
must  all  be  clean  and  fresh,  for  a  clean  new  house.  And, 
look  here,  Anne,  you  can't  do  all  the  work ;  do  you  happen 
to  know  of  a  good,  hard-working  girl,  who  would  come  and 
help  you,  and  stay  altogether  if  Mrs.  Home  happened  to  like 
her,  just  a  second  like  yourself,  my  lass  ? " 

"  Oh,  please,  sir,  please,  sir,"  answered  Anne,  "  there's 
my  own  sister,  she's  older  nor  me,  and  more  knowing. 
She's  real  'andy,  and  please,  sir,  she'd  like  it  real  awful 
well." 

"  Engage  her  by  all  means,"  said  Wilson,  "  go  at  once 
for  her.  See ;  where  does  she  live  ?  I  will  pay  the  cab' 
fare." 

"  Oh,  was  anything  so  exactly  like  the  Family  Herald" 
thought  Anne  as  she  drove  away. 

Uncle  Sandy  then  went  to  a  large  West  End  furniture 
shop,  and  chose  some  sensible  and  nice  furniture.  The 


214 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


drawing-room  alone  he  left  untouched,  for  he  could  not  pre 
tend  to  understand  how  such  a  room  should  be  rigged  out — 
that  must  be  Charlotte's  province.  But  the  nice  large  din 
ing-room,  the  bedrooms,  the  stairs  and  hall,  were  made  as 
swejt  and  gay  and  pretty  as  the  West  End  shopman,  who 
had  good  taste  and  <.o  whom  Uncle  Sandy  gave  carte  blanche, 
could  devise.  Finally,  on  Saturday,  he  went  to  a  florist's 
and  from  there  filled  the  windows  with  flowers,  and  Anne 
had  orders  to  abundantly  supply  the  larder  and  store-room ; 
and  now  at  last,  directions  being  given  for  tea,  the  old  man 
went  off  to  meet  his  niece,  her  husband  and  her  children,  to 
conduct  them  to  their  new  home. 

"  Oh,  we  did  have  such  a  time,"  said  Harold,  as,  brown 
as  a  berry,  he  looked  up  at  his  old  great-uncle.  "Didn't 
we,  Daisy  ?  "  he  added,  appealing  to  his  small  sister,  who 
clung  to  his  hand. 

"  Ess,  but  we  'onted  'oo,  Uncle  'Andy,"  said  the  small 
thing,  looking  audaciously  into  his  face,  which  she  well  knew 
this  speech  would  please. 

"  You're  just  a  dear,  little,  darling  duck,"  said  Sandy, 
taking  her  in  his  arms  and  giving  her  a  squeeze.  But  even 
Daisy  could  not  quite  monopolize  him  at  this  moment.  All 
the  success  of  his  scheme  depended  on  the  next  half-hour, 
and  as  they  all  drove  back  to  Kentish  Town,  Sandy  on  the 
box-seat  of  the  cab,  and  the  father,  mother,  and  three  chil 
dren  inside,  his  heart  beat  so  loud  and  hard,  that  he  had  to 
quiet  it  with  some  sharp  inward  admonitions. 

"  Sandy  Wilson,  you  old  fool ! "  he  said  to  himself  more 
than  once  ;  "  you  have  not  been  through  the  hardships  of 
the  Australian  bush  to  be  afraid  of  a  moment  like  this. 
Keep  yourself  quiet;  I'm  ashamed  of  you." 

At  last  they  drew  up  at  the  address  Sandy  had  privately 
given.  How  beautiful  the  new  house  looked  !  The  hall 
door  stood  open,  and  Anne's  smiling  face  was  seen  on  the 
threshold.  The  children  raised  a  shout  at  sight  of  her  and 
the  flowers,  which  were  so  gay  in  the  windows.  Mr.  Home 
in  a  puzzled  kind  of  way  was  putting  out  his  head  to  tell  the 
cabby  that  he  had  made  a  mistake,  and  that  he  must  jnst 
turn  the  corner.  Charlotte  was  feeling  a  queer  little  sensa 
tion  of  surprise,  when  Uncle  Sandy,  with  a  face  almost  pur 
ple  with  emotion,  flung  open  the  door  of  the  cab,  took  Daisy 
in  his  arms,  and  mounting  her  with  an  easy  swing  on  to  his 
shoulder  said  to  Charlotte, — 


HO  W  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


215 


"  Welcome,  in  the  name  of  your  dear,  dead  mother, 
Daisy  Wilson,  to  your  new  home,  Niece  Lottie." 

The  children  raised  a  fresh  shout. 

"  Oh,  come,  Daisy,"  said  Harold ;  she  struggled  to  the 
ground  and  the  two  rushed  in.  Anne  came  down  and  took 
the  baby,  and  Mr,  and  Mrs.  Home  had  no  help  for  it  but  to 
follow  in  a  blind  kind  of  way.  Uncle  Sandy  pushed  his 
niece  down  into  one  of  the  hall  chairs. 

"  There  !  "  he  said  ;  "  don't,  for  Heaven's  sake,  you  two 
unpractical,  unworldly  people,  begin  to  be  angry  with  me. 
That  place  in  Tremins  Road  was  fairly  breaking  my  heart, 
and  I  could  not  stand  it,  and  'tis — well — I  do  believe  'tis 
let,  and  you  can't  go  back  to  it,  and  this  house  is  yours, 
Niece  Charlotte,  and  the  furniture.  As  to  the  rent,  I'll  be 
answerable  for  that,  and  you  won't  refuse  your  own  mother's 
brother.  The  fact  was,  that  attic  where  the  children  slept 
was  too  much  for  me,  so  I  had  to  do  something.  Forgive 
me  if  I  practised  a  little  bit  of  deception  on  you  both.  Now, 
I'm  off  to  an  hotel  to-night,  but  to-morrow,  if  you're  not  too 
angry  with  your  mother's  brother,  I'm  coming  back  for  good. 
Kept  a  fine  room  for  myself,  I  can  tell  you.  Anne  shall 
show  it  to  you.  Trust  Sandy  Wilson  to  see  to  his  own  com 
forts.  Now  good-bye,  and  God  bless  you  both." 

Away  he  rushed  before  either  of  the  astonished  pair  had 
time  to  get  in  a  word. 

"  But  I  do  think  they'll  forgive  the  liberty  the  old  man 
took  with  them,"  were  his  last  waking  thoughts  as  he  closed 
his  eyes  that  night. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

HE   WEPT. 

MR.  HARMAN  was  beginning  to  take  the  outward  circum 
stances  of  his  life  with  great  quietness.  What,  three  months 
before,  would  have  caused  both  trouble  and  distress,  now 
was  received  with  equanimity.  The  fact  was,  he  felt  him 
self  day  by  day  getting  so  near  eternity,  that  the  things  of 
time,  always  so  disproportionately  large  to  our  worldly  minds, 
were  assuming  to  him  their  true  proportions. 


216  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

John  Harman  was  being  led  by  a  dark  road  of  terrible 
mental  suffering  to  his  God  ;  already  he  was  drawing  near, 
and  the  shadow  of  that  forgiveness  which  would  yet  encircle 
him  in  its  perfect  rest  and  peace  was  at  hand. 

Days,  and  even  weeks,  went  by,  and  there  was  no  news 
of  Jasper.  John  Harman  would  once  have  been  sorely  per 
plexed,  but  now  he  received  the  fact  of  his  brothers  absence 
with  a  strange  quietness,  even  apathy.  Charlotte's  po.-i- 
poned  marriage,  a  little  time  back,  would  have  also  fretted 
him,  but  believing  surely  that  she  would  be  happy  after  his 
death,  he  did  not  now  trouble;  and  he  could  not  help 
owning  to  himself  that  the  presence  of  his  dearly  loved 
daughter  was  a  comfort  too  great  to  be  lightly  dis 
pensed  with.  He  was  too  much  absorbed  with  him 
self  to  notice  the  strangeness  of  Hinton's  absence,  and 
he  did  not  perceive,  as  "he  otherwise  would  have  done,  that 
Charlotte's  face  was  growing  thin  and  pale,  and  that  there 
was  a  subdued,  almost  crushed  manner  about  the  hitherto 
spirited  creature,  which  not  even  his  present  state  of  health 
could  altogether  account  for. 

Yes,  John  Harman  lived  his  self-absorbed  life,  going  day 
by  day  a  little  further  into  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death. 
The  valley  he  was  entering  looked  very  dark  indeed  to  the 
old  man,  for  the  sin  of  his  youth  was  still  unforgiven,  and  he 
could  not  see  even  a  glimpse  of  the  Good  Shepherd's  rod  and 
staff.  Still  he  was  searching  day  and  night  for  some  road  of 
peace  and  forgiveness  ;  he  wanted  the  Redeemer  of  all  the 
world  to  lay  His  hand  upon  his  bowed  old  head.  The  mis 
take  he  was  still  making  was  this — he  would  not  take  God's 
way  of  peace,  he  must  find  his  own. 

One  evening,  after  Charlotte  had  left  him,  he  sat  for  a 
long  time  in  his  study  lost  in  thought.  After  a  time  he  rose 
and  took  down  once  more  from  the  shelf  the  Bible  which  he 
had  opened  some  time  before ;  then  it  had  given  him  the  re 
verse  of  comfort,  and  he  scarcely,  as  he  removed  it  from  the 
place  where  he  had  pushed  it  far  back  out  of  sight,  knew 
why  he  again  touched  it.  He  did,  however,  take  it  in  his 
hand,  and  return  with  it  to  his  chair.  He  drew  the  chrir  up 
to  the  table  and  laid  the  old  Bible  upon  it.  He  opened  it 
haphazard ;  he  was  not  a  man  who  had  ever  studied  or 
loved  the  Bible  ;  he  was  not  acquainted  with  all  its  contents 
and  the  story  on  which  his  eyes  rested  came  almost  with  the 
freshness  of  novelty. 


HO IV  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  2 1 7 

*'  Two  men  went  up  into  the  Temple  to  pray ;  the  one  a 
Pharisee,  and  the  other  a  publican. 

"  The  publican  would  not  lift  up  so  much  as  his  eyes  unto 
heaven,  but  smote  upon  his  breast,  saying,  God  be  merciful 
to  me,  a  sinner. 

"  I  tell  you,  this  man  went  down  to  his  house  justified 
rather  than  the  other." 

John  Harman  read  the  story  twice. 

"  This  man  went  down  to  his  house  justified  rather  than 
the  other." 

The  other !  he  fasted,  and  gave  alms,  and  thanked  God 
that  he  was  not  as  this  publican — this  publican,  who  was  a 
sinner. 

But  the  Bible  words  were  clear  enough  and  plain  enough. 
He,  the  sinner,  was  justified. 

John  Harman  covered  his  face  with  his  hands.  Suddenly 
he  fell  on  his  knees. 

"  God  be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner,"  he  said. 

He  said  the  few  words  twice  aloud,  in  great  anguish  of 
spirit,  and  as  he  prayed  he  wept. 

Afterwards  he  turned  over  the  Bible  pages  again.  This 
time  he  read  the  story  of  Zacchasus. 

"  If  I  have  taken  anything  from  any  man,  I  restore  him 
fourfold." 

It  was  very  late  when  Mr.  Harman  at  last  went  to  bed, 
but  he  slept  better  that  night  than  he  had  done  for  years. 
He  was  beginning  to  see  the  possible  end. 


CHAPTER  L. 

HOME'S  SERMON. 

IT  was  impossible  for  the  Homes  to  refuse  Uncle  Sandy's 
kindness.  Their  natural  pride  and  independence  of  char 
acter  could  not  stand  in  the  way  of  so  graciously  and  grace 
fully  offered  a  gift.  When  the  old  man  came  to  see  them  the 
next  day,  he  was  received  with  all  the  love  and  gratitude  he 
deserved.  If  he  could  give  well,  Charlotte  and  her  husband 
knew  how  to  receive  well.  He  now  told  his  niece  plainly 
that  he  had  come  to  pass  the  remainder  of  his  days  with  her 
and  hers  ;  and  father,  mother,  and  children  welcomed  him 
with  delight. 


2 1 8  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  RO UND. 

Charlotte  was  now  a  very  happy  woman.  The  new  and 
pretty  house  was  delightful  to  her.  She  began  to  understand 
what  it  was  not  to  have  to  look  twice  at  a  pound,  for  Uncle 
Sandy's  purse  was  for  ever  at  her 'command.  When  she  went 
with  her  old  uncle  to  choose  the  furniture  for  the  new  draw 
ing  room,  she  laughed  so  merrily  and  seemed  so  gay  that 
Uncle  Sandy  informed  her  that  she  had  already  lost  five  years 
of  her  age.  Harold  and  Daisy  used  to  look  into  her  face  at 
this  time,  and  say  to  one  another,  "Isn't  our  mother  pretty  ?" 
For,  indeed,  the  peace  in  her  heart,  and  the  little  unexpected 
glow  of  worldly  prosperity  which  had  come  into  her  life,  had 
wonderfully  softened  and  beautified  her  face.  Her  eyes, 
when  she  looked  at  her  children's  blooming  faces,  were  often 
bright  as  stars.  At  all  times  now  they  were  serene  and  happy. 
She  had  one  little  cross,  however,  one  small  shadow  in  her 
happy  time.  She  wanted  to  be  much — daily,  if  possible — 
with  Charlotte  Harman.  Her  heart  yearned  over  Charlotte, 
and  she  would  have  almost  neglected  her  children  to  give 
her  one  ray  of  comfort  just  now.  But  Charlotte  herself  had 
forbidden  this  daily  intercourse. 

"  I  love  you,  Charlotte,"  she  had  said,  "  and  I  know  that 
you  love  me.  But  at  present  we  must  not  meet.  I  cannot 
leave  my  father  to  go  to  see  you,  and  you  must  not  come 
here,  for  I  cannot  risk  the  chance  of  seeing  you.  He  may 
question  me,  and  I  shall  not  be  able  to  answer  his  questions. 
No,  Charlotte,  we  must  not  meet." 

Charlotte  Home  felt  much  regret  at  this.  Failing  Char 
lotte  Harman.  she  turned  her  attention  to  Hinton.  She  was 
fully  resolved  that  no  stone  should  remain  unturned  by  her 
to  enable  those  two  yet  to  marry,  and  she  thought  she  might 
best  effect  her  object  by  seeing  the  young  man.  She  wrote 
to  him,  asking  him  to  call,  telling  him  that  she  had  much  of 
importance  to  tell  him ;  but  both  from  his  private  address 
and  also  from  his  chambers  the  letters  were,  in  due  course 
of  time,  returned.  Hinton  was  not  in  town,  and  had  left  no 
clue  to  his  whereabouts.  Thus  she  was  cut  off  from  helping, 
in  any  way,  those  who  were  in  great  darkness,  and  this  fact 
was  an  undoubted  sorrow  to  her.  Yes,  Mrs,  Home  was  full 
of  pity  for  Charlotte,  full  of  pity  for  Charlotte's  lover.  But 
it  is  to  be  feared  that  both  she  and  Uncle  Sandy  retained  a 
strong  sense  of  indignation  towards  the  one  who  had  caused 
the  anguish — towards  the  one,  therefore,  on  whom  the 
heaviest  share  of  the  punishment  fell.  Very  terrible  was  it 
for  Charlotte,  very  terrible  for  Hinton.  But  were  they  asked 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


219 


to  tell  their  true  feeling  towards  old  John  Harman,  they 
might  have  whispered,  "  Serve  him  right."  There  was  one, 
however,  besides  his  daughter,  whose  warmest  sympathies, 
whose  most  earnest  and  passionate  prayers  were  beginning 
day  by  day  and  night  by  night,  to  centre  more  and  more 
round  the  suffering  and  guilty  man,  and  that  one  was  the 
curate,  Home.  Angus  Home  had  never  seen  John  Harman, 
but  his  sin  and  his  condition  were  ever  before  him.  He  was 
a  dying  man,  and — he  was  a  sinner.  With  strong  tears  and 
lamentation  did  this  man  cry  to  God  for  his  fellow  man. 
His  tears  and  his  prayers  brought  love  for  the  sinner.  An 
gus  Home  would  have  gladly  died  to  bring  John  Harman 
back  to  God. 

One  Saturday  night  he  sat  up  late  over  his  sermon.  He 
was  not  an  eloquent  preacher,  but  so  earnest  was  his  nature, 
so  intense  his  realization  of  God's  love  and  of  the  things  un 
seen,  that  it  was  impossible  for  his  words  not  to  be  winged  with 
the  rare  power  of  earnestness,  He  was  neither  gifted  with 
language  nor  with  imagination  ;  but  he  could  tell  plain  truths 
in  such  a  way  that  his  hearers  often  trembled  as  they  listened. 
At  such  times  he  looked  like  an  avenging  angel.  For  the 
man,  when  he  felt  called  on  to  rebuke  sin,  was  very  jealous 
for  his  God.  Then,  again,  he  could  whisper  comfort ;  he 
could  bring  down  Heaven,  and  looked,  when  he  spoke  of 
the  land  which  is  very  far  off,  as  though  even  now,  and  even 
here,  his  eyes  were  seeing  the  King  in  His  beauty.  Never 
theless,  so  little  was  that  real  power  of  his  understood,  so 
much  better  were  empty  words  gracefully  strung  together 
preferred,  that  Home  was  seldom  asked  to  preach  in  the 
large  parish  church.  His  congregation  were  generally  the 
very  poorest  of  his  flock.  These  very  poor  folks  learned  to 
love  their  pastor,  and  for  them  he  would  very  gladly  spend 
and  be  spent.  He  was  to  preach  to-morrow  in  a  small  iron 
building  to  these  poor  people.  He  now  sat  up  late  to  pre 
pare  his  sermon.  He  found  himself,  however,  sadly  out  of 
tune  for  this  work.  He  took  his  Bible  in  hand  and  turned 
page  after  page ;  he  could  find  no  suitable  text ;  he  could 
fix  his  attention  on  no  particular  line  of  argument.  He  un 
locked  a  drawer,  and  took  from  thence  a  pile  of  old  sermons  ; 
should  he  use  one  of  these  ?  He  looked  through  and  through 
his  store.  None  pleased,  none  satisfied  him.  Finally, 
overcome  by  a  sudden  feeling,  he  forgot  his  sermon  of  to 
morrow.  He  pushed  his  manuscripts  aside,  and  fell  on  his 
knees.  He  was  in  terror  about  the  soul  of  John  Harman, 


220  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUXD. 

and  he  prayed  for  him  in  groans  that  seemed  almost  as 
though  they  must  rend  the  heavens  in  their  pleadings  for  a 
reply.  "  Lord,  spare  the  man.  Lord,  hear  me  ;  hear  me 
when  I  plead  with  Thee.  It  was  for  sinners  such  as  he  Thou 
didst  die.  Oh,  spare  !  oh,  save  ! — save  this  great  sinner. 
Give  me  his  soul,  Lord.  Lord,  give  me  his  soul  to  bring  to 
Thee  in  Heaven."  He  went  up  to  bed  in  the  early  hours  of 
the  May  morning  quite  exhausted.  He  had  absolutely  for 
gotten  his  sermon.  He  had  not  prepared  a  word  for  his  con 
gregation  for  the  next  day.  Before  he  went  to  church  he 
remembered  this.  The  was  no  help  for  it  now.  He  could 
but  put  two  of  his  already  prepared  sermons  in  his  pocket  and 
set  out.  He  was  to  read  the  service  as  well  as  to  preach  the 
sermon.  There  were  about  sixty  poor  people  present.  Char 
lotte  and  the  children  went  to  the  parish  church.  There  was 
not  a  really  well-dressed  person  in  all  his  congregation.  He 
had  just  finished  reading  the  Ab.  -  hition  when  a  slight  stir 
near  the  door  attracted  his  attention.  He  raised  his  eyes  to 
see  the  verger  leading  up  the  centre  aisle  an  old  man  with 
bowed  head  and  silver  hair,  accompanied  by  a  young  woman. 
The  young  woman  Home  recognized  at  a  glance.  She  was 
Charlotte  Harman  ;  the  old  man  then  was  her  father.  He 
did  not  ask  himself  why  they  had  come  here  or  how,  but  in 
stantly  he  said  to  his  own  heart,  with  a  great  throb  of  ecstatic 
joy,  "God  has  heard  my  prayer;  that  soul  is  to  be  mine." 
When  he  mounted  the  pulpit  stairs  he  had  absolutely  forgot 
ten  his  written  sermons.  For  the  first  time  he  stood  before 
his  congregation  without  any  outward  aid  of  written 
words,  or  even  notes.  He  certainly  did  not  need  them,  for 
his  heart  was  full.  Out  of  that  heart,  burning  with  love  so 
intense  as  to  be  almost  divine,  he  spoke.  I  don't  think  he 
used  any  text,  but  he  told  from  beginning  to  end  the  old,  old 
tale  of  the  Prodigal  Son.  He  told  it  as,  it  seemed  to  his 
congregation,  that  wonderful  story  had  never  been  told  since 
the  Redeemer  Himself  had  first  uttered  the  words.  He  de 
scribed  the  far  country,  the  country  where  God  was  not ;  and 
the  people  were  afraid  and  could  scarcely  draw  their  breath. 
Then  he  told  of  the  Father's  forgiveness  and  the  Father's 
welcome  home  ;  and  the  congregation,  men  and  women  alike, 
hid  their  faces  and  wept.  Added  to  his  earnestness  God  had 
given  to  him  the  great  gift  of  eloquence  to-day.  The  people 
said  afterwards  they  scarcely  knew  their  pastor.  There  was 
not  a  dry  eye  in  his  church  that  morning. 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  22I 


CHAPTER  LI. 

A   SINNER. 

HOME  went  back  to  his  new  and  pretty  house  and  sat 
down  with  his  wife  and  children,  and  waited.  He  would  not 
even  tell  Charlotte  of  these  unlooked-for  additions  to  his 
small  congregation.  When  she  asked  him  if  he  had  got  on 
well,  if  his  sermon  had  been  a  difficulty,  he  had  answered, 
with  a  light  in  his  eyes,  that  God  had  been  with  him.  After 
this  the  wife  only  took  his  hand  and  pressed  it.  She  need 
question  no  further :  but  even  she  wondered  at  the  happy 
look  on  his  face. 

He  had  two  more  services  for  that  day,  and  also  schools 
to  attend,  and  through  all  his  duties,  which  seemed  to  come 
without  effort  or  annoyance,  he  still  waited.  He  knew  as 
well  as  if  an  angel  had  told  him  that  he  should  see  more 
of  Mr.  Harman.  Had  he  been  less  assured  of  this 
he  would  have  taken  some  steps  himself  to  secure  a, 
meeting ;  he  would  have  gone  to  the  daughter,  he  would 
have  done  he  knew  not  what.  But  having  this  firm  assur 
ance,  he  did  not  take  any  steps ;  he  believed  what  God 
wished  him  to  do  was  quietly  to  wait. 

When  he  went  out  on  Monday  morning  he  left  word  with 
his  wife  where  he  might  be  found  without  trouble  or  delay, 
if  wanted. 

"  Is  any  one  ill  in  the  congregation  ?  "  she  inquired." 

"Some 'one  is  ill,  but  not  in  the  congregation,"  he  an 
swered. 

He  came  home,  however,  late  on  Monday  night,  to  find 
that  no  one  had  sent,  no  one  in  particular  had  inquired  for 
him.  Still  his  faith  was  not  at  all  shaken  ;  he  still  knew  that 
Harman's  soul  was  to  be  given  to  him,  and  believing  that  he 
would  like  to  see  him,  he  felt  that  he  should  yet  be  sum 
moned  to  his  side. 

On  Tuesday  morning  prayers  were  to  be  read  in  the  little 
iron  church.  Never  full  even  on  Sundays,  this  one  week 
day  service  was  very  miserably  attended.  Home  did  not 
often  take  it,  the  duty  generally  devolving  on  the  youngest 


222  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  FOUXD. 

curate  in  the  place.  He  was  hurrying  past  to-day,  having 
many  sick  and  poor  to  attend  to,  when  he  met  young  Daven 
port — a  curate  only  just  ordained. 

"  I  am  glad  I  met  you,"  said  the  young  man,  coming  up 
at  once  and  addressing  the  older  clergyman  with  a  troubled 
face.  "  There  would  not  have  been  time  to  have  gone  round 
to  your  place.  See,  I  have  had  a  telegram ;  my  father  is  ill. 
I  want  to  catch  a  train  at  twelve  o'clock  to  go  and  see  him ; 
I  cannot  if  I  take  this  service.  Will  it  be  possible  for  you 
to  do  the  duty  this  morning  ? " 

"  Perfectly  possible,"  answered  Home  heartily.  "  Go 
off  at  once,  my  dear  fellow  j  I  will  see  to  things  for  you  un 
til  you  return." 

The  young  man  was  duly  grateful,  and  hurried  away  at 
once,  and  Home  entered  the  little  building.  The  moment 
he  did  so  he  saw  the  reason  of  it  all.  Mr.  Harman  was  in 
the  church ;  he  was  in  the  church  and  alone.  His  daughter 
was  not  with  him.  There  was  no  sermon  that  day,  and  the 
short  morning  prayers  were  quickly  over.  The  half-dozen 
poor  who  had  come  in  went  out  again ;  but  Mr.  Harman  did 
not  stir.  Home  took  off  his  surplice,  and  hurried  down  the 
church.  He  meant  now  to  speak  to  Mr.  Harman,  if  Mr. 
Harman  did  not  speak  to  him  ;  but  he  saw  that  he  would 
speak.  As  he  approached  the  pew  the  white-headed  old 
man  rose  slowly  and  came  to  meet  him. 

"  Sir,  I  should  like  to  say  a  few  words  to  you." 

'As  many  as  you  please,  my  dear  sir;  I  am  quite  at 
your  service." 

Home  now  entered  the  pew  and  sat  down. 

"  Shall  we  talk  here  or  in  the  vestry  ? "  he  inquired,  after 
a  moment's  silence. 

"  I  thought  perhaps  you  would  come  to  my  house  later 
on,"  said  Mr.  Harman.  "  I  have  a  long  story  to  tell  you ; 
I  can  tell  it  best  at  home.  I  am  very  ill,  or  I  would  come 
to  you.  May  I  expect  you  this  evening  ?  " 

"  I  will  certainly  come,"  answered  Home.  "  What  is 
your  address  ?  " 

Mr.  Harman  gave  it.     Then,  after  a  pause,  he  added — 

"  I  seek  you  as  a  minister." 

"  And  I  come  to  you  as  a  servant  of  God,"  replied  the 
curate,  now  fixing  his  eyes  on  his  companion. 

Mr.  Harman's  gaze  did  not  quail  before  that  steady  look. 
With  an  unutterable  sadness  he  returned  it  fully.  Then  he 
said, — 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


223 


"  I  came  here  on  Sunday." 

"  I  saw  you,"  answered  Home. 

"  Ah  !  can  it  be  possible  that  you  preached  to  me  ?  " 

"  To  you,  if  you  think  so.  I  spoke  to  every  sinner  in  the 
congregation." 

"  You  spoke  of  a  land  where  God  is  not ;  you  described 
the  terrible  country  well." 

"  An  arid  land  ?  "  answered  Home. 

"  Ay,  a  thirsty  land." 

"  Those  that  find  it  so  generally  find  also  that  they  are 
being  led  back  to  a  land  where  God  is." 

"  You  believe,  then,  in  the  forgiveness  of  sin  ?  " 

"  If  I  did  not  I  should  go  mad." 

"  My  good  sir,  you  are  not  much  of  a  sinner." 

"  I  am  a  sinner,  sir ;  and  if  I  were  not — if  I  dared  to 
lift  up  my  eyes  to  a  holy,  a  righteous  God,  and  say,  '  I  am 
pure' — I  yet,  if  I  did  not  believe  as  fully  as  I  am  now  sitting 
by  your  side  in  the  perfect  forgiveness  of  sin,  I  yet  should 
go  mad ;  for  I  have  seen  other  men's  sins  and  other  men's 
despair  ;  I  should  lose  my  reason  ^for  their  sakes,  if  not  for 
my  own." 

"  Should  you,  indeed  ?  You  see  now  before  you  a  de 
spairing  man  and  a  dying  man." 

"  And  a  sinner  ?  "  questioned  Home. 

"  Ay,  ay,  God  knows,  a  sinner." 

"Then  I  see  also  before  me  a  man  whose  despair  can  be 
changed  to  peace,  and  his  sin  forgiven.  What  hour  shall  I 
call  upon  you  this  evening  ?  " 

Mr.  Harm  an  named  the  hour.  Then  he  rose  feebly  ; 
Home  gave  him  his  arm  and  conducted  him  to  his  carriage  ; 
afterwards  he  re-entered  the  church  to  pray. 


CHAPTER  LII. 

A  HIDDEN  SIN. 

NfNE  o'  clock  in  the  evening  was  the  hour  named  by  Mr. 
Harman,  and  punctually  at  that  hour  Home  arrived  at 
Prince's  Gate.  He  was  a  man  who  had  never  been  known 
to  be  late  for  an  appointment ;  for  in  little  things  even,  this 


224  //OH'  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUXI\ 

singular  man  was  faithful  to  the  very  letter  of  the  trust. 
This  nice  observance  of  his  passed  word,  in  a  great  measure 
counteracted  his  otherwise  unpractical  nature.  Home  was 
known  by  all  his  acquaintances  to  be  a  most  dependable  num. 

Mr.  Harman  had  told  Charlotte  that  he  was  expecting  a 
friend  to  visit  him.  He  said  he  should  like  to  see  that  friend 
alone  ;  but,  contrary  to  his  wont,  he  did  not  mention  his 
name.  This  cannot  be  wondered  at,  for  Mr.  Harman  km:\v 
of  no  connection  between  the  Homes  and  Charlotte.  He 
had  chosen  this  man  of  God,  above  his  fellow-men,  because 
he  had  been  haunted  and  impressed  by  his  sermon,  but  he 
scarcely  himself  even-  knew  his  name.  It  so  happened,  how 
ever,  that  Charlotte  saw  Mr.  Home  entering  her  father's 
study.  It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  the  sight  nearly  took 
her  breath  away,  and  that  she  felt  very  considerable  dis 
quietude. 

"  Sit  here,"  said  Mr.  Harman  to  his  guest. 

The  room  had  been  comfortably  prepared,  and  when 
Home  entered  Mr.  Harman  got  up  and  locked  the  door ; 
then,  sitting  down  opposite  to  Home,  and  leaning  a  little  for 
ward,  he  began  at  once  without  preface  or  preamble. 

"  I  want  to  tell  you  without  reservation  the  story  of  my 
life." 

"  I  have  come  to  listen,"  answered  Home. 

"  It  is  the  story  of  a  sin." 

Home  bent  his  head. 

"  It  is  the  story  of  a  suocessfully  hidden  sin — a  sin  hidden 
from  all  the  worla  for  three  and  twenty  years." 

"  A  crushing  weight  such  a  sin  must  have  been,"  answered 
the  clergyman.  "  But  will  you  just  tell  me  all  from  the  be 
ginning  ? " 

"  I  will  tell  you  all  from  the  beginning.  A  hidden  sin  is, 
as  you  say,  heavy  enough  to  crush  a  man  into  hell.  But  I 
will  make  no  more  preface.  Sir,  I  had  the  misfortune  to  lose  a 
very  noble  mother  when  I  was  young.  When  I  was  ten  years 
old,  and  my  brother  (I  have  one  brother)  was  eight,  our 
mother  died !  We  were  but  children,  you  will  say  ;  but  1 
don't,  even  now  that  I  am  a  dying,  sinful  old  man,  forget  my 
mother.  She  taught  us  to  pray  and  to  shun  sin.  She  also 
surrounded  us  with  such  high  and  holy  thoughts — she  so 
gave  us  the  perfection  of  all  pure  mother  love,  that  we  must 
have  been  less  than  human  not  to  be  good  boys  durinjj  her 
lifetime.  I  remember  even  now  the  look  in  her  eyes  when  I 
refused  on  any  childish  occasion  to  follow  the  good,  and 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


22$ 


then  chose    the  evil.      I  have     a  daughter — one    beloved 
daughter,  something  like  my  mother.     I  have  seen  the  same 
high  and  honorable  light  in  her  eyes,  but  never  since  in   any 
others.     Well,  my  mother  died,  and  Jasper  and  I  had  only 
her  memory  to  keep  us  right.  We  used  to  talk  about  her  often, 
and  often  fretted  for  her  as,  I  suppose,  few  little  boys  before 
or  since  have  fretted  for  a  mother.     After  her  death  we  were 
sent  to  school.     Our  father  even  then  was  a   rich  man  :  he 
was  a  self-made  man  ;  he    started  a  business  in  a  small  way 
in  the  City,  but  small  beginnings  often  make  great  endings, 
and  the  little  business  grew,  and  grew,  and  success  and  wealth 
came  almost  without  effort.      Jasper  and  I  never  knew  what 
poverty  meant.     I  loved  learning  better  than  my  brother  did, 
and  at  the  age  of  eighteen,  when  Jasper  went  into  our  father's 
business,  I  was  sent  to  Oxford.     At   twenty-two  I  had  taken 
my  degree,  and  done  so,   not   perhaps  brilliantly,  but   with 
some  honor.     Any  profession  was  now   open  to  me,  and  my 
father  gave  me  full  permission  to  choose  any  walk  in  life  I 
chose  ;  at   the  same  time  he  made  a  proposal.     He  was  no 
longer  so  young  as  he  had  been  ;  he  had  made  his  fortune  ;  he 
believed  that  Jasper's  aptitude  for  business  excelled  his  own. 
If  we  would  become  partners  in  the  firm  which  he  had  made, 
and  which  was   already  rising  into  considerable  eminence, 
he  would  retire  altogether.     We  young  men  should  work  the 
business  in  our  own  way.     He  was  confident  we  should  rise 
to  immense  wealth.     While  making  this  proposal  our  father 
said  that  he  would  not  give  up  his  business  to  Jasper  alone. 
If  both  his  sons  accepted  it,  then  he   would  be   willing  to 
retire,  taking  with  him  a  considerable  sum  of  money,  but 
still   leaving   affairs   both     unencumbered   and    flourishing. 
'  You  are  my  heirs  eventually.'  he  said  to  us  both ;  '  and  now 
I  give  you  a  week  to  decide.'     At  the  end  of  the  allotted 
time  we  accepted  the  offer.     This  was  principally  Jasper's 
doing,  for  at  that  time  I  knew  nothing  of  business,  and  had 
thought  of  a  profession.     Afterwards  I  liked  the   counting- 
house,  and  became  as  absorbed  as  others  in  the  all-engross 
ing  accumulation  of  wealth.     Our  father  had  taken  a  very 
large  sum  of  money  out   of   the  business,  and  it  was  im 
possible  for  us  not  to  feel  for  a  time   a  considerable   strain  ; 
but  Jasper's  skill  and  talent  were  simply  wonderful,  and  suc 
cess  attended  all  our  efforts. 

"  Two  years  after  I  joined  the  business,  I  married  my 
Charlotte's  mother.  I  was  a  wealthy  man  even  then. 
Though  of  no  birth  in  particular,  I  was  considered  gentle- 


226  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

manly.  I  had  acquired  that  outward  polish  which  a  university 
education  gives  ;  I  was  also  good-looking.  With  my  money, 
good  looks,  and  education,  I  was  considered  a  match  for  the 
proud  and  very  poor  daughter  of  an  old  Irish  baronet.  She 
had  no  money ;  she  had  nothing  but  her  beautiful  face,  her 
high  and  honorable  spirit,  her  blue  blood.  You  will  say, 
'Enough!'  Ay,  it  was  more  than  enough.  She  made  me 
the  best,  the  truest  of  wives.  I  never  loved  another  woman. 
She  was  a  little  bit  extravagant.  She  had  never  known 
wealth  until  she  became  my  wife,  and  wealth,  in  the  most 
innocent  way  in  the  world,  was  delightful  to  her.  While 
Jasper  saved,  I  was  tempted  to  live  largely.  I  took  an  ex 
pensive  house — there  was  no  earthly  good  thing  I  would  not 
have  given  to  her.  She  loved  me ;  but,  as  I  said,  she  was 
proud.  Pride  in  birth  and  position  was  perhaps  her  only 
fault.  I  was  perfect  in  her  eyes,  but  she  took  a  dislike  to 
Jasper.  This  I  could  have  borne,  but  it  pained  me  when  I 
saw  her  turning  away  from  my  old  father.  I  dearly  loved 
and  respected  my  father,  and  I  wanted  Constance  to  love 
him,  but  she  never  could  be  got  to  care  for  him.  It  was  at 
that  time,  that  that  thing  happened  which  was  the  beginning 
of  all  the  after  darkness  and  misery. 

"  My  father,  finding  my  proud  young  wife  not  exactly  to 
his  taste,  came  less  and  less  to  our  house.  Finally,  he 
bought  an  old  estate  in  Hertfordshire,  and  then  one  day  the 
news  reached  us  that  he  had  engaged  himself  to  a  very  young 
girl,  and  that  he  would  marry  at  once.  There  was  nothing 
wrong  in  this  marriage,  but  Jasper  and  I  chose  to  consider 
it  a  sin.  We  had  never  forgotten  our  mother,  and  we  thought 
it  a  dishonor  to  her.  We  forgot  our  father's  loneliness. 
In  short,  we  were  unreasonable  and  behaved  as  un 
reasonably  as  unreasonable  men  will  on  such  occasions. 
Hot  and  angry  words  passed  between  our  father  and  our 
selves.  We  neither  liked  our  father's  marriage  nor  his 
choice.  Of  course,  we  were  scarcely  likely  to  turn  the  old 
man  from  his  purpose,  but  we  refused  to  have  any 
thing  to  do  with  his  young  wife.  Under  such  circumstances 
we  had  an  open  quarrel.  Our  father  married,  and  we  did 
not  see  him  for  years.  I  was  unhappy  at  this ,  for  I  loved 
my  father.  Before  his  second  marriage,  he  always  spent 
from  Saturday  to  Monday  at  our  house,  and  though  my  own 
wife  not  caring  for  him  greatly  marred  o  T  p!j;ist:re,  yet  now 
that  the  visits  had  absolutely  ceased  I  mis=ed  them — I  missed 
the  gray  head  and  the  shrewd,  old,  kindly  face  ;  and  often, 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


227 


very  often,  I  almost  resolved  to  run  down  into  Hertfordshire 
and  make  up  my  quarrel.  I  did  not  do  so,  however ;  and 
as  the  years  went  on,  I  grew  afraid  to  mention  my  father's 
name  to  either  my  wife  or  brother.  Jasper  and  I  were  at 
this  time  deeply  absorbed  in  speculation ;  our  business  was 
growing  and  growing  ;  each  thing  we  embarked  in  turned  out 
well ;  we  were  beginning  quite  to  recover  from  the  strain 
which  our  father's  removal  of  so  large  a  sum  of  money  had 
caused.  Jasper  was  a  better  man  of  business  than  I  was. 
Jasper,  though  the  junior  partner,  took  the  lead  in  all  plans. 
He  proposed  that  an  Australian  branch  of  our  business  should 
be  opened.  It  was  done,  and  succeeded  well. 

"  About  this  time  we  heard  that  a  little  son  had  arrived 
at  the  Hermitage  in  Hertfordshire.  He  did  not  live  long. 
We  saw  his  birth  announced  in  The  Times.  It  may  have 
been  some  months  later,  though,  looking  back  on  it,  it  seems 
but  a  few  days,  that  the  birth  was  followed  by  the  death.  A 
year  or  two  passed  away,  and  my  wife  and  I  were  made 
happy  by  the  arrival  of  our  first  child.  The  child  was  a 
daughter.  We  called  her  Charlotte,  after  my  much-loved 
mother.  Time  went  on,  until  one  day  a  telegram  was  put 
into  my  hand  summoning  my  brother  and  myself  to  our 
father's  deathbed.  The  telegram  was  sent  by  the  young 
wife.  I  rushed  off  at  once ;  Jasper  followed  by  the  next 
train. 

The  hale  old  man  had  broken  up  very  suddenly  at  last, 
and  the  doctor  said  he  had  but  a  few  days  to  live.  During 
those  few  days,  Jasper  and  I  scarcely  left  his  bedside ;  we 
were  reconciled  fully  and  completely,  and  he  died  at  last 
murmuring  my  own  mother's  name  and  holding  our  hands. 

It  was  during  this  visit  that  I  saw  the  little  wife  for  the 
first  time.  She  was  a  commonplace  little  thing,  but  pretty 
and  very  young ;  it  was  impossible  to  dislike  the  gentle 
creature.  She  was  overpowered  with  grief  at  her  husband's 
death.  It  was  impossible  not  to  be  kind  to  her,  not  to  com 
fort  her.  There  was  one  child,  a  girl  of  about  the  age  of  my 
own  little  Charlotte.  This  child  had  also  been  named 
Charlotte.  She  was  a  pale,  dark-eyed  child,  with  a  certain 
strange  look  of  my  mother  about  her.  She  was  not  a 
particle  like  her  own.  My  father  loved  this  little  creature, 
and  several  times  during  those  last  days  of  his  he  spoke  of 
her  to  me. 

"  '  I  have  called  her  after  your  own  mother,'  he  said.  '  I 
love  my  second  wife  ;  but  the  Charlotte  of  my  youth  can  never 


228  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND 

be  forgotten.  I  have  called  the  child  Charlotte ;  you  have 
called  your  daughter  Charlotte.  Good  !  let  the  two  be 
friends.' 

"  I  promised  readily  enough,  and  I  felt  pity  and  interest  for 
the  little  forlorn  creature.  I  also,  as  I  said,  intended  to  be 
good  to  the  mother,  who  seemed  to  me  to  be  incapable  of 
standing  alone. 

"  Immediately  after  my  father's  death  and  before  the  fu 
neral,  I  was  summoned  nastily  to  town.  My  wife  was  dan 
gerously  ill.  A  little  dead  baby  had  come  into  the  world, 
and  for  a  time  her  life  was  despaired  of ;  eventually  she  got 
better ;  but  for  the  next  few  days  I  lived  and  thought 
only  for  her.  I  turned  over  all  business  cares  to  Jasper.  I 
was  unable  even  to  attend  our  father's  funeral.  I  never  day 
or  night  left  Constance's  bedside.  I  loved  this  woman  most 
devotedly,  most  passionately.  During  all  those  days  wlu'ii 
her  life  hung  in  the  balance,  my  time  seemed  one  long  prayer 
to  God.  '  Spare  her,  spare  her  precious  life  at  any  cost,  at 
any  cost.'  Those  were  the  words,  for  ever  on  my  lips.  The 
prayer  was  heard ;  I  had  my  wife  again.  For  a  short  time 
she  was  restored  to  me.  I  have  often  thought  since,  was 
even  that  precious  life  worth  the  price  I  paid  for  it  ?  " 

Here  Mr.  Harman  paused.  Some  moisture  had  gathered 
on  his  brow ;  he  took  out  his  handkerchief  to  wipe  it  away. 
A  glass  of  water  stood  by  his  side  ;  he  drank  a  little. 

"  I  am  approaching  the  sin,"  he  said  addressing  the  clergy 
man.  "  The  successfully  buried  sin  is  about  to  rise  from  its 
grave  ;  pardon  me  if  I  shrink  from  the  awful  sight." 

"  God  will  strengthen  you,  my  dear  sir,"  answered  Home. 
*'  By  your  confession,  you  are  struggling  back  into  the  right 
path.  What  do  I  say  ?  Rather  you  are  being  led  back  by 
God  himself.  Take  courage.  Lean  upon  the  Almighty  arm 
Your  sin  will  shrink  in  dimensions  as  you  view  it ;  for  be 
tween  you  and  it  will  come  forgiveness." 

Mr.  Harman  smiled  faintly,  After  another  short  pause, 
he  continued. 

"  On  the  day  on  which  my  dear  wife  was  pronounced  out 
of  danger,  Jasper  sent  for  me.  My  brother  and  I  had  ever 
been  friends,  though  in  no  one  particular  were  we  alike. 
During  the  awful  struggle  through  which  I  had  just  passed. 
I  forgot  both  him  and  my  father.  Now  I  remembered  him 
and  my  father's  death,  and  our  own  business  cares.  A  thou 
sand  memories  came  back  to  me.  When  he  sent  for  me  I 
left  my  wife's  bedside  and  went  down  to  him.  I  was  feeling 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


229 


weak  and  low,  for  I  had  not  been  in  bed  for  many  nights, 
and  a  kind  of  reaction  had  set  in.  I  was  in  a  kind  of  state 
when  a  man's  nerves  can  be  shaken,  and  his  whole  moral 
equilibrium  upset.  I  do  not  offer  this  as  an  excuse  for  what 
followed.  There  is  no  excuse  for  the  dark  sin  ;  but  I  do 
believe  enough  about  myself  to  say  that  what  I  then  yielded 
to,  I  should  have  been  proof  against  at  a  stronger  physical 
moment.  I  entered  my  private  sitting-room  to  find  Jasper 
pacing  up  and  down  like  a  wild  creature.  His  eyes  were 
bloodshot,  his  hair  tossed.  He  was  a  calm  and  cheerful  per 
son  generally.  At  this  instant,  he  looked  like  one  half  bereft 
of  reason.  '  Good  heavens  !  what  is  wrong  ? '  I  said.  I  was 
startled  out  of  myself  by  his  state  of  perturbation. 

"  We  are  ruined ;  that  is  what  is  wrong,'  answered 
Jasper. 

"  He  then  entered  into  particulars  with  which  I  need  not 
trouble  you.  A  great  house,  one  of  the  greatest  and  largest 
houses  in  the  City,  had  come  to  absolute  grief  ;  it  was  bank 
rupt.  In  its  fall  many  other  houses,  ours  amongst  them, 
must  sink. 

"  I  saw  it  all  quite  plainly.  I  sat  down  quiet  and  stunned  ; 
while  Jasper  raved  and  swore  and  paced  up  and  down  the 
room,  I  sat  still.  Yes  we  were,  beggars,  nothing  could  save 
the  house  which  our  father  had  made  with  such  pride  and 
care. 

"  After  a  time  I  left  Jasper  and  returned  to  my  wife's 
room.  On  the  way  I  entered  the  nursery  and  paid  my  pretty 
little  Charlotte  a  visit.  She  climbed  on  my  knee  and  kissed 
me,  and  all  the  time  I  kept  saying  to  myself,  '  The  child  is  a 
beggar,  I  can  give  her  no  comforts  ;  we  are  absolutely  in 
want.'  It  was  the  beginning  of  the  winter  then,  and  the 
weather  was  bitterly  cold.  The  doctor  met  me  on  the  thres 
hold  of  my  wife's  room  ;  he  said  to  me, '  As  soon  as  ever  she  is 
better,  you  must  either  take  or  send  her  out  of  England. 
She  may  recover  abroad  ;  but  to  winter  in  this  climate,  in  her 
present  state,  would  certainly  kill  her.'  How  bitter  I  felt ; 
for  was  I  not  a  beggar  ?  How  could  I  take  my  wife  away  ? 
I  sat  down  again  in  the  darkened  room  and  thought  over  the 
past.  Hitherto  the  wealth,  which  was  so  easily  won,  seemed 
of  comparatively  small  importance.  It  was  easy  with  a  full 
purse  to  wish,  then  to  obtain.  I  had  often,  wondered  at 
Constance's  love  for  all  the  pretty  things  with  which  I  de 
lighted  to  surround  her,  her  almost  childish  pleasure  in  the 
riches  which  had  come  to  her.  She  always  said  to  me  at 
such  times : 


230 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  KOUXD. 


riches  which  had  come  to  her.     She   always  said  to  me   at 
such  times : 

"  '  But  I  have  known  such  poverty  ;  I  hate  poverty,  and  I 
love,  I  love  the  pretty  things  of  life.' 

"This  very  night,  as  I  sat  by  her  bedside,  she  opened  her 
lovely  eyes  and  looked  at  me  and  said  : 
^  "  '  John,  I  have  had  such  a  dream  so  vivid,  so,  so  terrible. 
I  thought  we  were  poor  again — poorer  than  I  ever  was  even 
with  my  father ,  so  poor,  John,  that  I  was  hungry,  and  you 
could  give  me  nothing  to  eat.  I  begged  you  to  give  me  food. 
There  was  a  loaf  in  a  shop  window,  such  a  nice  crisp  loaf  ; 
and  I  was  starving.  When  you  snid  yoq  had  no  money,  I 
begged  of  you  to  steal  that  loaf.  You  would  not,  you  would 
not,  and  at  last  I  lay  down  to  die.  Oh !  John,  say  it  was  a 
dream.' 

" '  Of  course  it  was  only  a  dream,  my  darling ! '  I  an 
swered,  and  I  kissed  her  and  soothed  her,  though  all  the 
time  my  heart  felt  like  lead. 

"  That  evening  Jasper  sent  for  me  again.  His  manner 
now  was  changed.  The  wildness  and  despair  had  left  it. 
He  was  his  old,  cool,  collected  self.  He  was  in  the  sort  of 
mood  when  he  always  had  an  ascendency  over  me — the  sort 
of  mood  when  he  showed  that  wonderful  business  faculty  for 
which  I  could  not  but  admire  him. 

"  *  Sit  down,  John,'  he  said,  '  I  have  a  great  deal  to  say  to 
you.  There  is  a  plan  in  my  head.  If  you  will  agree  to  act 
with  me  in  it,  we  may  yet  be  saved.' 

"  Thinking  of  my  Constance  lying  so  ill  upstairs,  my  heart 
leaped  up  at  these  words. 

"  '  What  is  5'our  plan  ? '  I  said.  '  I  can  stay  with  you  for 
some  time.  I  can  listen  as  long  as  you  like.' 

" '  You  hate  poverty  ? '  said  Jasper. 

"  4  Yes,'  I  said,  thinking  of  Constance, '  I  hate  it.' 

"  '  If  you  will  consent  to  my  scheme  ;  if  you  will  consent 
before  you  leave  this  room,  we  need  not  sink  with  Cooper. 
Cooper  and  Bennett.' 

"  '  I  will  listen  to  you,'  I  said. 

"  '  You  have  always  been  so  absorbed  lately  in  your  wife,' 
continued  Jasper,  '  that  you  have,  I  really  believe,  forgotten 
our  father's  death  :  his  funeral  was  last  Thursday.  Of  course 
you  could  not  attend  it.  After  the  funeral  I  read  the  will.' 

"  '  Yes,'  I  said,  '  I  had  really  forgotten  my  father's  will. 
He  left  us  money  ? '  I  said.  '  I  am  glad  ;  it  will  keep  us 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND 


231 


from  absolute  want.     Constance  need  not  be  hungry  after 
all. 

"  My  brother  looked  at  me. 

"  '  A  little  money  has  been  left  to  us,'  he  said,  '  but  so 
little  that  it  must  go  with  the  rest.  In  the  general  crash 
those  few  thousands  must  also  go.  John,  you  remember 
when  our  father  took  that  very  large  sum  out  of  the  business, 
he  promised  that  we  should  be  his  heirs.  It  was  a  loan  for 
his  lifetime.' 

"  '  He  had  not  married  then,'  I  said. 

"  '  No,'  answered  Jasper,  '  he  had  not  married.  Now  that 
he  has  married  he  has  forgotten  all  but  this  second  wife. 
He  has  left  her,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  thousands,  the 
whole  of  that  fine  property.  In  short,  he  has  left  her  a  sum 
of  money  which  is  to  realize  an  income  of  twelve  hundred  a 
year.' 

"  Yes,'  I  said,  wearily. 

"Jasper  looked  at  me  very  hard.     I  returned  his  gaze. 

"  '  That  money,  if  left  to  us,  would  save  the  firm.  Quite 
absolutely  save  the  firm  in  this  present  crisis  j  he  said,  slowly  and 
emphatically. 

"  '  Yes,'  I  said  again.  I  was  so  innocent,  so  far  from 
what  I  since  became,  at  that  moment,  that  I  did  not  in  the 
least  understand  my  brother.  'The  money  is  not  ours,' 
I  said,  seeing  that  his  eyes  were  still  fixed  on  me  with  a 
greedy  intense  light. 

"  '  If  my  father  were  alive  now,'  said  Jasper,  rising  to  his 
feet  and  coming  to  my  side,  '  if  my  father  were  alive  now,  he 
would  break  his  heart,  to  see  the  business  which  he  made 
with  such  pride  and  skill,  come  to  absolute  grief.  If  my 
father  were  still  alive  ;  if  that  crash  had  come  but  a  fortnight 
ago,  he  would  say,  '  Save  the  firm  at  any  cost." 

"'But  he  is  dead,'  I  said,  'we  cannot  save  the  firm. 
What  do  you  mean,  Jasper?  I  confess  I  cannot  see  to 
what  you  are  driving.' 

"  '  John,'  said  my  brother,  '  you  are  stupid.  If  our  father 
could  speak  to  us  now,  he  would  say,  '  Take  the  money,  all 
the  money  I  have  left,  and  save  the  firm  of  Harman 
Brothers.' 

"  '  You  mean,'  I  said,  'you  mean  that  we — we, are  to  steal 
that  money,  the  money  left  to  the  widow,  and  the  fatherless  ? ' 

"  I  understood  the  meaning  now.  I  staggered  to  my 
feet.  I  could  have  felled  my  brother  to  the  ground.  He  was 
my  brother,  my  only  brother;  but  at  that  moment,  so 


232 


HOW  IT  ALL   CAME   ROUND. 


true  were  my  heart's  instincts  to  the  good  and  right,  that  1 
loathed  him.  Before  however,  I  could  say  a  word,  or  utter 
a  reproach,  a  message  came  to  me  from  my  wife.  I  was 
wanted  in  my  wife's  room  instantly,  she  was  excited,  she  was 
worse.  1  flew  away  without  a  word. 

"  Come  back  again,  I  will  wait  for  you  here,'  called  af 
ter  me  my  brother. 

"  I  entered  Constance's  room.  I  think  she  was  a  little 
delirious.  She  was  still  talking  about  money,  about  being 
hungry  and  having  no  money  to  buy  bread.  Perhaps  a  pre 
sentiment  of  the  evil  news  had  come  to  her.  I  had  to  soothe, 
to  assure  her  that  all  she  desired  should  be  hers.  I  even 
took  my  purse  out  and  put  it  into  her  burning  hand.  At  last 
she  believed  me  ;  she  fell  asleep  with  her  hand  in  mine.  I 
dared  not  stir  from  her ;  and  all  the  time  as  I  sat  far  into  the 
night,  I  thought  over  Jasper's  words.  They  were  terrible 
words,  but  I  could  not  get  them  out  of  my  head,  they  were 
burning  like  fire  into  my  brain.  At  last  Constance  awoke  ; 
she  was  better,  and  I  could  leave  her.  It  was  now  almost 
morning.  I  went  to  my  study,  for  I  could  not  sleep.  To  my 
surprise,  Jasper  was  still  there.  It  was  six  hours  since  I  had 
left  him,  but  he  had  not  stirred. 

"John,"  he  said,  seeing  that  I  shrank  from  him,  'you 
must  hear  me  out.  Call  my  plan  by  as  ugly  a  name  as  you 
like,  no  other  plan  will  save  the  firm.  John,  will  you  hear 
me  speak  ? ' 

" '  Yes,  I  will  hear  you,'  I  said.  I  sank  down  on  the 
sofa.  My  head  was  reeling.  Right  and  wrong  seemed  con 
fused.  I  said  to  myself,  My  brain  is  so  confused  with  grief 
and  perplexity  that  it  is  no  matter  what  Jasper  says  just  now, 
for  I  shall  not  understand  him.  But  I  found  to  my  surprise 
almost  to  my  horror,  that  I  understood  with  startling  clear 
ness  every  word.  This  was  Jasper's  plan.  There  were  three 
trustees  to  the  will ;  I  was  one,  my  brother  Jasper  another, 
a  third  was  a  man  by  the  name  of  Alexander  Wilson.  He 
was  brother  to  my  father's  second  wife.  This  Alexander 
Wilson  I  had  never  seen.  Jasper  had  seen  him  once.  He 
described  him  to  me  as  a  tall  and  powerful  man  with  red 
hair.  '  He  is  the  other  trustee,'  said  my  brother,  '  and  he 
is  dead.' 

"  '  Dead  ! '  I  said,  starting. 

" '  Yes,  he  is  without  doubt  dead  ;  here  is  an  account  of 
his  death.' 

"Jasper  then  oper>ed  an  Australian  paper  and  showed  me 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


233 


the  name,  also  the  full  account  of  a  man  who  answered  in 
all  particulars  to  the  Alexander  Wilson  named  as  a  third 
trustee.  Jasper  then  proceeded  to  unfold  yet  further  his 
scheme. 

"  That  trustee  being  dead,  we  were  absolute  masters  of 
the  situation,  we  could  appropriate  that  money.  The  widow 
knew  nothing  yet  of  her  husband's  will ;  she  need  never 
know.  The  sum  meant  for  her  was,  under  existing  circum 
stances,  much  too  large.  She  should  not  want,  she  should 
have  abundance.  But  we  too  should  not  want.  Were  our 
father  living  he  would  ask  us  to  do  this.  We  should  save 
ourselves  and  the  great  house  of  Harman  Brothers.  In 
short,  to  put  the  thing  in  plain  language,  we  should,  by 
stealing  the  widow's  money,  save  ourselves.  By  being  faith 
less  to  our  most  solemn  trust,  we  could  keep  the  filthy  lucre. 
I  will  not  say  how  I  struggled.  I  did  struggle  for  a  day ; 
in  the  evening  I  yielded.  I  don't  excuse  myself  in  the  very 
least.  In  the  evening  I  fell  as  basely  as  a  man  could  fall.  I  be 
lieve  in  my  fall  I  sank  even  lower  than  Jasper.  I  said  to 
him,  '  I  cannot  bear  poverty,  it  will  kill  Constance,  and 
Constance  must  not  die  ;  but  you  must  manage  everything, 
I  can  go  into  no  details ;  I  can  never,  never  as  long  as  I 
live,  see  that  widow  and  child.  You  must  see  them,  you 
must  settle  enough,  abundance  on  them,  but  never  mention 
their  names  to  me.  I  can  do  the  deed,  but  the  victims  must 
be  dead  to  me. 

To  all  this  Jasper  promised  readily  enough.  He  prom 
ised  and  acted.  All  went,  outwardly,  smoothly  and  well  ; 
there  was  no  hitch,  no  outward  flaw,  no  difficulty,  the  firm 
was  saved  ;  none  but  we  two  knew  how  nearly  it  had  been 
engulfed  in  hopeless  shipwreck.  It  recovered  itself  by 
means  of  that  stolen  money,  and  flew  lightly  once  again  over 
the  waters  of  prosperity.  Yes,  our  house  was  saved,  and 
from  that  hour  my  happiness  fled.  I  had  money,  money  in 
abundance  and  to  spare  ;  but  I  never  knew  another  hour, 
day  or  night,  of  peace.  I  had  done  the  deed  to  save  my 
wife,  but  I  found  that,  though  God  would  give  me  that 
cursed  wealth,  He  yet  would  take  away  my  idol  for  whom  I 
had  sacrificed  my  soul.  Constance  only  grew  well  enough 
to  leave  England.  We  wintered  abroad,  and  at  Cannes,  sur 
rounded  by  all  that  base  money  could  supply,  she  closed  her 
eyes.  I  returned  home  a  widower,  and  the  most  wretched 
man  on  the  face  of  the  earth.  Soon  after,  the  Australian 
branch  of  our  business  growing  and  growing,  Jasper  found  it 


234 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


well  to  visit  that  country.  He  did  so,  and  stayed  away  many 
years.  Soon  after  he  landed,  he  wrote  to  tell  me  that  he 
had  seen  the  grave  of  Alexander  Wilson  ;  that  he  had  made 
many  inquries  about  him,  and  that  now  there  was  not  the 
least  shadow  of  doubt  that  the  other  trustee  was  dead.  He 
said  that  our  last  fears  of  discovery  might  now  rest. 

"  Years  went  by,  and  we  grew  richer  and  richer ;  all  we 
put  our  hands  to  prospered.  Money  seemed  to  grow  for  us 
on  every  tree.  I  could  give  my  one  child  all  that  wealth 
could  suggest.  She  grew  up  unsullied  by  what  was  eating 
into  me  as  a  canker.  She  was  beautiful  alike  in  mind  and 
body ;  she  was  and  is  the  one  pure  and  lovely  thing  left  to 
me.  She  became  engaged  to  a  good  and  honorable  man. 
He  had,  it  is  true,  neither  money  nor  position,  but  I  had 
learned,  through  all  these  long  years  of  pain,  to  value  such 
things  at  their  true  worth.  Charlotte  should  marry  where 
her  heart  was.  I  gave  her  leave  to  engage  herself  to  Hinton. 
Shortly  after  that  engagement,  Jasper,  my  brother,  returned 
from  Australia.  His  presence,  reminding  me,  as  it  did,  day 
and  night,  of  my  crime,  but  added  to  my  misery  of  soul. 
I  was  surprised,  too,  to  see  how  easily  what  was  dragging 
me  to  the  very  gate  of  hell  seemed  to  rest  on  him.  I  could 
never  discover,  narrowly  as  I  watched  him,  that  he  was  any 
thing  but  a  happy  man.  One  evening,  after  spending  some 
hours  in  his  presence,  I  fainted  away  quite  suddenly.  I  was 
alone  when  this  fainting  fit  overtook  me.  I  believe  I  was 
unconscious  for  many  hours.  The  next  day  I  went  to  con 
sult  a  doctor.  Then  and  there,  in  that  great  physician's 
consulting-room,  I  learned  that  I  am  the  victim  of  an  incur 
able  complaint ;  a  complaint  that  must  end  my  life,  must 
end  it  soon,  and  suddenly.  In  short,  the  doctor  said  to  me, 
not  in  words,  but  by  look,  by  manner,  by  significant  hand 
pressure,  and  that  silent  sympathy  which  speaks  a  terrible 
fact.  '  Prepare  to  meet  thy  God.'  Since  the  morning  I  left 
the  doctor's  presence  I  have  been  trying  to  prepare  ;  but  be 
tween  God  and  me  stands  my  sin.  I  cannot  get  a  glimpse 
of  God.  I  wait,  and  wait,  but  I  only  see  the  awful  sin  of 
my  youth.  In  short,  sir,  I  am  in  the  far  country  where  God 
is  not." 

"  To  die  so  would  be  terrible,"  said  Mr.  Home. 

"To  die  so  will  be  terrible,  sir  ;  in,  short,  it  will  be  hell." 

"  Do  not  put  it  in  the  future  tense,  Mr.  Harman,  for  you 
that  day  is  past." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? " 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


235 


"  I  mean  that  even  now,  though  you  know  it  not,  you  are 
no  longer  in  the  far  country.  You  are  the  prodigal  son  if; 
you  like,  but  you  are  on  the  road  back  to  the  Father.  You 
are  on  the  homeward  road,  and  the  Father  is  looking  out  for 
you.  When  you  come  to  die  you  will  not  be  alone,  the  hand 
of  God  will  hold  yours,  and  the  smile  of  a  forgiving  God  will 
say  to  you,  as  the  blessed  Jesus  said  once  to  a  poor  sinful 
woman,  who  yet  was  not  half  -as  great  a  sinner  as  you  are, 
'  Thy  sins,  which  are  many,  are  forgiven  thee." 

"  You  believe  then  in  the  greatness  of  my  sin  ?  " 

"  I  believe,  I  know  that  your  sin  was  enormous  ;  but  so 
also  is  your  repentance," 

"God  knows  I  repent,"  answered  Mr.  Harman. 

"  Yes  ;  when  you  asked  me  to  visit  you,  and  when  you 
poured  out  that  story  in  my  ears,  your  long  repentance  and 
anguish  of  heart  were  beginning  to  find  vent." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  that  you  will  make  reparation." 

"  Ay,  indeed  I  am  more  than  willing.  Zacchaeus  restored 
fourfold." 

"  Yes,  the  road  for  you,  straight  to  the  bosom  of  the 
Father,  is  very  prickly  and  full  of  sharp  thorns.  You  have 
held  a  high  character  for  honor  and  respectability.  You 
have  a  child  who  loves  you,  who  has  thought  you  perfect. 
You  must  step  down  from  your  high  pedestal.  You  must 
renounce  the  place  you  have  held  in  your  child's  heart.  In 
short,  you  mus't  let  your  only  child,  and  also  the  cold,  cen 
sorious  world,  see  you  as  God  has  seen  you  for  so  long." 

"  I  don't  mind  the  world,  but — my  child — my  only  child," 
said  Mr.  Harman,  and  now  he  put  up  his  trembling  hands 
and  covered  his  face.  "That  is  a  very  hard  road,"  he  said 
after  a  pause. 

v   "  There  is  no  other  back  to  the  Father,"  answered  the 
clergyman. 

"  Well,  I  will  take  it  then,  for  I  must  get  back  to  Him. 
You  are  a  man  of  God.  I  put  myself  in  your  hands.  What 
am  I  to  do  ? " 

"  You  put  yourself  not  into  my  hands,  sir,  but  into 
the  loving  and  merciful  hands  of  my  Lord  Christ.  The 
course  before  you  is  plain.  You  must  find  out  those  you 
have  robbed  ;  you  must  restore  all,  and  ask  these  wronged 
ones'  forgiveness.  When  they  forgive,  the  peace  of  God 
will  shine  into  your  heart." 


236  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

il  You  mean  the  widow  and  the  child.  But  I  do  not  know 
anything  of  them  ;  I  have  shut  my  eyes  to  their  fate." 

"  The  widow  is  dead,  but  the  child  lives ;  I  happen  to 
know  her  ;  I  can  bring  her  to  you." 

"  Can  you  ?     How  soon  ? " 

"  In  an  hour  and  a  half  from  now  if  you  like.  I  should 
wish  you  to  rest  in  that  peace  I  spoke  of  before  morning. 
Shall  I  bring  her  to-night  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  will  see  her ;  but  first,  first,  will  you  pray  with 
me?" 

Mr.  Home  knelt  down  at  once.  The  gray-headed  and 
sinful  man  knelt  by  his  side.  Then  the  clergyman  hurried 
away  to  fetch  his  wife. 


CHAPTER  LIII. 

THE  PRINCE  OF  PEACE. 

IT  was  very  nearly  midnight  when  Mr.  Home,  entering 
the  sitting-room  where  his  wife  waited  up  for  him,  asked 
her  to  come  with  him  at  once. 

"  There  is  a  hansom  at  the  door,"  he  said,  "  put  on  your 
bonnet  and  come.  I  will  tell  you  all  as  we  drive  along ; 
come  at  once,  we  have  not  a  moment  to  lose." 

Charlotte  Home,  accustomed  as  Home's  wife  to  imperative 
demands,  only  thought  of  a  night's  nursing  of  some  specially 
poor  patient.  She  rose  without  a  word,  and  in  two  minutes 
they  were  driving,  as  fast  as  a  fleet  horse  could  take  them 
to  Prince's  Gate. 

"  Charlotte,"  said  her  husband,  taking  her  hand,  "God 
has  heard  my  prayer,  God  has  given  me  the  man's  soul." 

"  Whose  soul,  my  dearest  ?  " 

"  The  soul  of  John  Harman.  Charlotte,  I  have  prayed 
as  I  never  prayed  before  in  all  my  life  for  that  guilty  and 
troubled  sinner's  soul.  I  have  been  in  an  agony  for  it ;  it 
has  seemed  to  me  at  times  that  for  this  lost  and  suffering 
brother  I  could  lay  down  my  very  life.  On  Sunday  last  I 
went  to  conduct  sen-ice  in  the  small  iron  church,  I  tried 
the  night  before  to  prepare  a  sermon  ;  no  thought  would 
come  to  me.  I  tried  at  last  to  look  up  an  old  one  ;  no  old 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


237 


sermon  would  commend  itself.  Finally  I  dropped  all 
thought  of  the  morrow's  sermon  and  spent  the  greater  part 
of  the  night  in  prayer.  My  prayer  was  for  this  sinner,  and 
it  seemed  to  me,  that  as  I  struggled  and  pleaded,  God  the 
Father  and  God  the  Son  drew  nigh.  I  went  to  bed  with  a 
wonderfully  close  sense  of  their  presence.  At  morning 
prayers  the  next  day,  Miss  Harman  and  her  father  entered 
the  church.  You  may  well  look  at  me  in  surprise,  Charlotte, 
but  when  I  saw  them  I  felt  quiet  enough  ;  I  only  knew  that 
God  had  sent  them.  For  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  preached 
without  note  or  written  help.  I  felt,  however,  at  no  loss  for 
words ;  my  theme  was  the  Prodigal  Son.  I  thought  only  of 
Mr.  Harman ;  I  went  home  and  continued  to  pray  for  him. 
On  Tuesday  morning — that  is,  this  morning — he  was  again 
at  the  church.  After  the  prayers  were  over  he  waited  to 
speak  to  me  :  he  asked  me  to  visit  him  at  his  own  house  this 
evening.  I  went  there  ;  I  have  been  with  him  all  the  even 
ing  ;  he  told  me  his  life  story,  the  bitter  story  of  his  fall.  I 
am  now  come  for  you,  for  he  must  confess  to  you — you  are 
the  wronged  one." 

"  I  am  going  to  see  John  Harman,  my  half-brother  who 
has  wronged  me  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Home  ;  "  I  am  going  to  him 
now  without  preparation  ?  Oh  !  Angus,  I  cannot,  not  to 
night,  not  to-night." 

"  Yes,  dear,  it  must  be  to-night ;  if  there  is  any  hardness 
left  in  your  heart  it  will  melt  when  you  see  this  sinner,  whom 
God  has  forgiven." 

"  Angus,  you  are  all  tenderness  and  love  to  him ;  I  can 
not  aspire  to  your  nature,  I  cannot.  To  this  man,  who  has 
caused  such  misery  and  sin,  I  feel  hard.  Charlotte  I  pity, 
Charlotte  I  love ;  but  this  man,  this  man  who  deliberately 
could  rob  my  dead  mother  !  It  is  against  human  nature  to 
feel  very  sorry  for  him." 

"  You  mean  to  tell  me,  Charlotte,  that  you  refuse  to  for 
give  him  ?  " 

"No;  eventually  you  will  conquer  me;  but  just  now,  I 
confess,  my  heart  is  not  full  of  pity." 

Mr.  Home  thought  for  a  moment.  He  was  pained  by  his 
wife's  want  of  sympathy.  Then  he  reflected  that  she  had 
not  seen  Mr.  Harman.  It  was  plain,  however,  that  they 
must  not  meet  until  her  spirit  towards  him  had  changed. 

"  Do  not  stop  at  Prince's  Gate,"  he  called  out  to  the 
cabby,  "  drive  on  until  I  ask  you  to  stop." 

During  the  drive  that  followed,  he  told  his  wife  Mr.  Har- 


238  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

man's  story.  He  told  it  well,  for  when  he  had  finished, 
Charlotte  turned  to  him  eyes  which  had  shed  some  tears. 

"  Does  Charlotte  know  of  this  ?  "  she  said. 

"  I  do  not  think  so.  Will  you  come  to  Mr.  Harrrfan 
now  ? " 

"  Yes.     I  will  come  on  one  condition  1 " 

"  What  is  that  ?  " 

"  That  I  may  see  Charlotte  afterwards." 

"  I  am  sure  that  can  be  managed." 

Then  Mr.  Home  desired  the  cabby  to  stop  at  Prince's 
Gate.  A  sleepy-looking  servant  waited  up  for  them.  He 
manifested  no  surprise  at  sight  of  the  lady  and  gentleman  at 
such  an  hour.  Mr.  Home  took  his  wife's  hand,  and  the  ser 
vant  led  them  straight  to  his  master's  study. 

"  I  have  told  her  the  story,"  said  Mr.  Home  ;  "  she  is 

your  father's  child,  she  comes  to "  Here  the  clergyman 

paused  and  looked  at  his  wife,  he  wanted  the  word  "  forgive  " 
to  come  from  her  own  lips.  Mrs.  Home  had  grown  white  to 
her  very  lips.  Now  instead  of  replying,  she  fell  upon  her 
knees  and  covered  her  face. 

"  Charlotte,"  said  Mr.  Harman,  "can  you  do  what  this 
clergyman  wants  ?  Can  you  forgive  the  sin  ?  "  There  was 
no  answer  ;  Mrs.  Home  was  sobbing  aloud.  "  I  have  robbed 
you,  I  have  robbed  you  most  cruelly.  My  dying  father  asked 
me  to  be  good  to  you  ;  I  have  been  worse  than  cruel.  You 
see  before  you  an  old,  old  man,  as  great  a  sinner  as  can  be 
found  on  God's  earth.  Can  you  forgive  me  ?  Dare  I  ask  it  ? 
At  last,  at  last  I  make  full  reparation  ;  I  repent  me,  in  dust 
and  ashes  ;  I  repent,  and  I  restore  all  fourfold."  But  here 
Charlotte  Home  had  risen  suddenly  to  her  feet.  She  came 
up  close  to  Mr.  Harman,  and  taking  his  hand  raised  it  to  her 
lips. 

"  My  husband  has  told  me  all.  I,  I  quite  forgive  you," 
she  said. 

Mr.  Harman  glanced  at  the  clergyman.  "  Your  hus 
band  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Yes  ;  she  is  my  wife,"  answered  Mr.  Home.  "  Sir,  you 
heard  my  wife  say  that  she  quite  forgives.  You  may  go  to 
rest  to-night,  with  a  very  peaceful  heart ;  the  peace  of  God 
which  passes  all  understanding  may  encompass  your  pillow 
to-night.  It  is  late  and  you  have  gone  through  much,  may  I 
go  with  you  to  your  room  ?  There  will  be  many  explanations 
yet  to  make  ;  but  though  a  clergy-man,  I  am  also  in  seme 
measure  a  physician.  I  see  you  can  go  through  no  more 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


239 


emotion  to-night,  rest  satisfied  that  all  explanations  can  wait 
till  to-morrow." 

"  I  will  go  with  you,"  answered  Mr.  Harman,  "  but  may 
I  first  thank  your  wife  ? "  Charlotte  Home's  bonnet  had 
fallen  off  as  she  knelt  on  the  floor,  now  suddenly  a  withered 
and  trembling  hand  was  placed  on  her  head.  "  God  bless 
you  !  Even  from  a  sinner  like  me,  such  words  from  a  full 
heart  must  be  heard." 

"  Ay,"  said  Mr.  Home,  in  a  loud,  exultant  voice,  "  the 
Prince  of  peace  and  forgiveness  has  come  into  this  house  to 
night." 


CHAPTER   LIV. 
CHARLOTTE'S  ROOM. 

MR.  HOME  and  Mr.  Harman  went  away  together,  and 
Charlotte  was  left  alone  in  the  study.  By  the  profound  still 
ness  which  now  reigned  in  the  house  she  guessed  that  every 
one  had  gone  to  bed.  The  servant  who  had  admitted  them 
at  so  late  an  hour  had  looked  sleepy  as  he  had  done  so. 
Doubtless  Mr.  Harman  had  desired  him  not  to  wait  longer. 
Charlotte  felt  there  was  no  use  in  ringing  a  bell.  She 
scarcely  knew  her  way  about  this  great  house.  Nevertheless 
she  must  find  Charlotte  ;  she  could  not  wait  until  the  morn 
ing  to  throw  her  arms  round  her  neck.  She  took  one  of  the 
candles  from  the  mantelpiece  and  began  her  tour  through 
the  silent  house.  She  felt  strangely  timid  as  she  commenced 
this  midnight  pilgrimage.  The  softly-carpeted  stairs  echoed 
back  no  footfall ;  she  passed  door  after  door.  At  last  she 
recognized  Charlotte's  own  private  sitting-room,  she  had  been 
there  two  or  three  times,  but  had  never  seen  the  room  where 
her  friend  slept.  A  corridor,  however,  ran  directly  from  this 
sitting-room,  and  Charlotte  saw  a  closed  door  at  the  further 
end.  "That  must  be  the  room,"  she  said  to  herself,  and 
she  went  straight  towards  it.  The  door  was  closed,  but 
Charlotte  heard  a  faint  sound  within.  Instantly  on  hearing 
it  she  knocked  lightly,  but  distinctly.  There  was  a  quick 
sound  of  hurried  and  surprised  feet,  and  Charlotte  Harman 
opened  the  door.  Her  eyes  were  heavy  and  red,  as  though 


240  MOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

she  had  been  weeping.  Her  face  was  pale.  She  had  not 
begun  to  undress. 

"  Charlotte  ;  Charlotte  Home  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Oh, 
what  is  wrong  ?  My  father  !  " 

"  Nothing  is  wrong,  dear  Charlotte,  dear,  dear  Charlotte  ; 
but  may  I  come  in  ?  I  have  a  great  deal  to  tell  you." 

"  Oh,  I  shall  be  glad !  but  how  astonished  I  am  to  see 
you.  I  could  not  sleep.  Yes,  come  in,  you  shall  keep  me 
company.  Charlotte,  you  have  been  crying.  Charlotte, 
there  is  something  wrong." 

"  You  may  well  be  surprised  to  see  me  here,"  said  Mrs. 
Home  ,  "  but,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  things  are  more  right 
than  wrong.  My  husband  came  first,  then  he  brought  me." 

"  Yes,  I  saw  Mr.  Home  early  in  the  evening.  I  saw  him 
go  into  my  father's  study.  When  he  went  away  I  went  there 
myself  ;  but  the  door  was  locked,  and  my  father  called  out 
from  within,  '  Not  to-night,  my  child ,  don't  sit  up  for  me, 
come  to  me  in  the  morning,  I  would  rather  be  alone  to-night.' 
He  never  before  refused  to  see  me  to  say  good-night.  I 
went  to  my  room.  I  could  not  rest.  Everything  seems  very 
dark.  I  have  been  crying,  and  now  you  have  come.  Oh, 
Charlotte  !  what  is  the  meaning  of  it  all  ?  " 

"  The  meaning  is  good,  Charlotte  ;  but  good  or  bad,  you 
have  to  thank  yourself  for  it.  Why  did  you  take  your  father 
to  my  husband's  church  on  Sunday  ?  " 

"  He  came  to  me  on  Sunday  morning,"  answered  Miss 
Harman.  "  He  said  he  would  like  to  go  to  church  with  me. 
He  never  did  go  to  church  with  me — never,  for  many  months. 
I  asked  him  where  he  would  go.  He  said  he  would  leave  it 
to  me.  Then  it  flashed  across  me  that  he  did  not  know  Mr. 
Home,  also  that  I  had  never  heard  Mr.  Home  preach.  I  re 
solved  to  go  to  his  church.  We  drove  to  Kentish  Town.  I 
made  a  few  inquiries.  I  found  out  the  little  church  where 
your  husband  told  the  people  of  his  congregation  how  best 
to  live,  how  best  to  die.  Ah,  Charlotte  !  he  did  preach  to 
us.  What  a  man  he  is  !  " 

"  He  realizes  the  absolute  daily  presence  of  God  more 
perfectly  than  any  man  I  ever  met,"  answered  the  wife. 
"  My  dear,  it  was  God  himself  led  you  to  my  husband's  church 
on  Sunday.  Your  father  went  there  again  to-day.  After  the 
service  he  stopped  to  speak  to  Angus.  He  asked  him  to 
come  to  him  this  evening.  This  evening  he  told  my 
husband  all ;  all  the  story  of  his  sin,  his  repentance.  Angus 
heard  all,  and  when  it  was  over  he  sent  for  me.  I  saw  your 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


241 


father.  Charlotte,  your  father  may  have  been  a  sinner,  but 
with  such  sinners,  as  he  was  once,  the  New  Jerusalem  will  be 
filled  by  and  by.  Ah  !  thank  God  for  the  peace  I  saw  on  his 
face  before  I  left  him.  Do  you  know  that  he  put  his  hand  on 
my  head  and  blessed  me.  Angus  is  with  him  now,  and  I 
have  come  to  you." 

"My  father  has  told  all !"  said  Charlotte  Harman.  Her 
face  could  scarcely  grow  any  whiter.  She  made  no  further 
exclamation,  but  sat  quiet.  Charlotte  Home,  having  told  her 
story,  watched  her  face.  Suddenly,  with  tears  springing  to 
ber  eyes,  she  turned  to  the  wife  and  mother  who  stood  by  her 
side. 

"  Charlotte,  how  hard  my  heart  has  been  !  I  have  passed 
through  some  dreadful  weeks.  Oh !  how  heavy  was  my 
burden,  how  heavy  was  my  heart !  My  heart  was  growing 
very  hard ;  but  the  hardness  has  gone  now.  Now,  Charlotte, 
I  believe,  I  believe  fully  what  your  little  Harold  said  to  me 
some  weeks  ago." 

"  What  did  he  say  to  you,  dearest  ?  " 

"  He  said  that  Jesus  Christ  loved  me  very  much.  Yes,  I 
believe  Jesus  does  love  me  very  much.  Oh,  Charlotte  !  do 
you  know  that  I  am  tired  and  rested,  and  I  want  to  sleep  al 
together.  Will  you  lie  down  beside  me  ?  You  will  not  leave 
me  to-night  ? " 

"  No,  darling ;  I  will  not  leave  you  to-night." 


CHAPTER  LV. 

HOW    SANDY     WILSON    SPEAKS    OUT   HIS   MIND. 

EARLY  in  the  morning,  the  father  and  daughter  met.  Not 
very  many  words  passed  between  them.  Mr.  Harman  knew 
that  Mrs.  Home  had  told  Charlotte  all.  Now,  coming  to  his 
side,  she  put  her  arms  about  him,  and  knelt,  looking  into  his 
face. 

"  Charlotte,  you  know  what  I  have  been/'  he  said. 

"  Father,  I  know  what  you  are  now,"  she  answered. 

After  these  few  words,  she  would  scarcely  allow  him  to 
speak  again,  for  he  was  very  weak,  too  weak  to  leave  his  bed ; 
but  later  on,  in  the  course  of  the  day,  they  had  a  long  talk 
together,  and  Charlotte  told  her  father  of  her  own  suffering 


242 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


during  the  past  weeks.  There  was  no  longer  need  of  con 
cealment  between  them,  and  Charlotte  made  none.  It  was 
a  very  few  days  later  that  two  trustees  of  the  late  Mr. 
Harman's  will  saw  each  other  for  the  first  time. 

Sandy  Wilson  had  often  looked  forward  to  the  moment 
when  he  could  speak  out  his  mind  as  to  the  enormity  of  the 
crime  committed  by  Mr.  Harman.  Hitherto,  this  worthy  man 
had  felt  that  in  this  respect  circumstances  had  been  hard  on 
him.  His  Daisy,  his  pretty  little  gentle  sister,  had  been 
treated  as  hardly,  as  cruelly,  as  woman  could  be  treated,  and 
yet  the  robber — for  was  he  not  just  a  common  robber  ? — had 
got  off  scot  free ;  he  was  to  get  off  scot  free  to  the  very  end ; 
he  was  to  be  let  die  in  peace  ;  and  afterwards,  his  innocent 
child,  his  only  daughter,  must  bear  the  brunt  of  his  misdeeds. 
She  must  be  put  to  grief  and  shame,  while  he,  the  one  on 
whose  head  the  real  sin  lay,  escaped.  Sandy  felt  that  it 
would  have  been  some  slight  relief  to  his  wounded  feelings 
if  he  could  find  some  one  to  whom  he  could  thoroughly  and 
heartily  abuse  Mr.  Harman.  But  even  this  satisfaction  was 
denied  him.  Mr.  Home  was  a  man  who  would  listen  to  abuse 
of  none  ;  and  even  Charlotte,  though  her  eyes  did  flash  when 
his  name  was  mentioned,  even  she  was  simply  silent,  and  to 
all  the  rest  of  the  world  Sandy  must  keep  the  thing  a  secret. 

There  was  no  doubt  whatever  that  when,  the  day  after 
Mr.  Harman's  confession,  the  Homes  came  to  Uncle  Sandy 
and  told  him,  not  only  all,  but  also  that  at  any  moment  he 
might  receive  a  summons  to  visit  Mr.  Harman,  he  felt  a 
sense  of  exultation  ;  also  that  hisexulation  was  caused,  not  by 
the  fact  that  his  niece  would  now  get  back  her  own,  for  he  had 
supplied  her  immediate  need  for  money,  but  by  the  joyful 
sense  that  at  last,  at  last,  he,  Sandy,  could  speak  out  his  full 
mind.  He  could  show  this  bad  man,  about  whom  every  one 
was  so  strangely,  so  absurdly  silent,  what  he  thought  of  his 
conduct  to  his  dear  little  sister.  He  went  away  to  Prince's 
Gate,  when  at  last  the  summoms  came,  bristling  over  with  a 
quite  delightful  sense  of  power.  How  well  he  would  speak ! 
how  cleverly  he  would  insert  the  arrow  of  remorse  into  that 
cruel  heart !  As  he  entered  the  house  he  was  met  by  Miss 
Harman.  She  held  out  her  hand  to  him  without  a  word,  and 
led  him  to  the  door  of  her  father's  study.  Her  eyes,  however, 
as  she  looked  at  him  for  a  moment,  were  eloquent.  Those 
eyes  of  hers  had  exercised  a  power  over  him  in  Somerset 
House  ;  they  were  full  of  pleading  now.  He  went  into  Mr. 
Harman's  presence  softened,  a  little  confused,  and  with  his 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


243 


many  excellent  to  the  point,  and  scathing,  remarks  running 
riot  in  his  brain. 

Thus  it  came  to  pass  that  Sandy  said  no  word  of  reproach 
to  the  broken-down  man  who  greeted  him.  Nay,  far  from 
reproaching,  he  felt  himself  sharing  in  the  universal  pity. 
Where  God's  hand  was  smiting  hard,  how  could  man  dare  to 
raise  his  puny  arm  ? 

The  two  trustees,  meeting  for  the  first  time  after  all  these 
years,  talked  long  over  that  neglected,  that  unfulfilled  trust, 
and  steps  were  put  in  train  to  restore  to  Charlotte  Home  what 
had  for  so  many  years  been  held  back  from  her.  This  large 
sum,  with  all  back  interest,  would  make  the  once  poor  Char 
lotte  very  rich  indeed.  There  would  still  be,  after  all  was 
settled,  something  left  for  Charlotte  Harman,  but  the  posi 
tions  of  the  two  were  now  virtually  reversed. 

"  There  is  one  thing  which  still  puzzles  me/'  said  Mr. 
Harman  before  they  parted.  "  Leaving  my  terrible  share  in 
this  matter  alone,  my  brother  and  I  could  never  have  carried 
out  our  scheme  if  you  had  not  been  supposed  to  be  dead. 
How  is  it  you  gave  no  sign  of  your  existence  for  three  and 
twenty  years  ?  My  brother  even  wrote  me  word  from  Aus 
tralia  that  he  had  himself  stood  on  your  grave." 

"  He  stood  on  the  grave  of  Sandy  Wilson,  but  never  on 
mine,"  answered  the  other  trustee.  "There  was  a  fellow 
bearing  my  name,  who  was  with  me  in  the  Bush.  He  was 
the  same  age.  He  was  like  me  too  in  general  outline  ;  big, 
with  red  hair  and  all  that  kind  of  thing.  His  name  was  put 
into  the  papers,  and  I  remember  wondering  if  the  news  would 
reach  home,  and  if  my  little  Daisy — bless  her ! — would  think 
it  was  me.  I  was  frightfully  poor  at  the  time,  I  had  scarcely 
sixpence  to  bless  myself  with,  and  somehow,  your  father, 
sir,  though  he  did  eventually  trust  me,  as  circumstances 
proved,  yet  he  gave  me  to  understand  that  in  marrying  the 
sister  he  by  no  means  intended  to  take  the  brother  to  his 
bosom.  I  said  to  myself,  '  A  poor  lost  dog  like  Sandy  may 
as  well  appear  to  be  dead  to  those  at  home.  I  love  no  one 
in  England  but  my  little  Daisy,  and  she  does  not  need  me, 
she  has  abundance  without  me.'  So  I  ceased  to  write.  I 
had  gone  to  a  part  of  the  country  where  even  an  English 
paper  reached  us  but  once  or  twice  a  year.  I  heard  nothing 
of  the  old  home  ;  and  by  degrees  I  got  out  of  the  habit  of 
writing.  I  was  satisfied  to  be  considered  dead.  I  did  wrong, 
I  confess." 

"  By  coming  back,  by  proclaiming  your  existence,   you 


244 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


could  have  exposed  me  years  ago,"  said  Mr.  Harman  ;  u  how 
I  dreaded  exposure ;  how  little  I  knew,  when  it  did  come, 
that  it  would  fall  lightly  in  comparison  with " 

«  What  ? "  asked  Wilson. 

"  The  awful  frown  of  God's  displeasure.  Man,  to  be  shut 
away  from  God  through  your  own  sin  is  to  be  in  hell.  I  have 
dwelt  there  for  three  and  twenty  years.  Until  two  nights 
ago,  I  have  known  no  peace  ;  now,  I  know  God  can  forgive 
even  such  a  sin  as  mine." 

"  I  believe  you  have  suffered,  Mr.  Harman,"  answered 
Wilson.  "  For  the  matter  of  that,  we  are  all  poor  sinners. 
God  have  mercy  upon  us  all !  " 

"Amen,"  said  Mr.  Harman. 

And  that  was  all  the  reproof  Sandy  ever  found  in  his 
heart  to  give  to  his  fellow  trustee. 


CHAPTER  LVI. 

MRS.    HOME'S    DREAM. 

STILL,  there  was  a  weight  on  Charlotte  Home's  mind. 
Much  had  been  given  to  her,  so  much  that  she  could  scarcely 
believe  herself  to  be  the  same  woman,  who  a  few  short 
months  ago  had  pawned  her  engagement  ring  to  buy  her 
little  son  a  pair  of  shoes.  She  was  now  wealthy  beyond  her 
wildest  dreams ;  she  was  wealthy  not  only  in  money  but  in 
friends.  Charlotte  Harman  was  her  almost  daily  companion. 
Charlotte  Harman  clung  to  her  with  an  almost  passionate  love. 
Uncle  Sandy,  too,  had  made  himself,  by  his  cheerfulness,  his 
generosity,  his  kindness  of  nature,  a  warm  place  in  her  affec 
tions  ;  and  Mr.  Harman  saw  her  more  than  once,  and  she 
found  that  she  could  love  even  Mr.  Harman.  Then — how 
well,  how  beautiful  her  children  looked  !  How  nice  it  was 
to  see  them  surrounded  by  those  good  things  of  life  which 
despise  them  as  some  people  will,  still  add  charms  to  those  who 
possess  them  !  Above  all,  how  happy  her  dear  husband  was  ! 
Angus  Home's  face  was  like  the  sun  itself,  during  the  days 
which  followed  Mr.  Harman's  confession.  This  sunshine 
with  him  had  nothing  to  say  to  the  altered  and  improved 
circumstances  of  his  life  :  but  it  had  a  great  deal  to  say  to 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


245 


the  altered  circumstances  of  his  mind.  God  had  most  sig 
nally,  most  remarkably,  heard  his  prayer.  He  had  given  to 
him  the  soul  for  which  he  pleaded.  Through  all  eternity 
that  suffering,  and  once  so  sinful,  soul  was  safe.  Mr.  Home 
rejoiced  over  that  redeemed  soul  as  one  who  finds  great  spoil. 
Added  love  to  God  filled  his  grateful  heart ;  his  faith  in  God 
became  more  and  more,  day  by  day,  a  mighty  power.  Thus 
Charlotte  Home  was  surrounded  by  as  much  sunshine  as  often 
visits  a  human  being  in  this  mortal  life  ;  yet  still  this  unreason 
able  woman  was  discontented.  The  fact  was,  success  had 
made  her  bold.  She  had  obtained  what  her  heart  had  pined 
for.  She  wanted  another  little  drop  of  bliss  to  complete  her 
overflowing  cup.  Charlotte  Home  was  unselfish  in  her  joy. 
There  was  a  shadow  on  another's  brow.  She  wanted  that 
shadow  to  depart ;  in  short,  she  wanted  Hinton  and  Charlotte 
to  meet ;  not  only  to  meet,  but  as  quickly  as  possible  to 
marry.  Charlotte's  heart  was  still  with  this  lover  whom  she 
had  given  up,  and  who  seemed  to  have  forsaken  her.  Mrs. 
Home  saw  this,  though  on  the  subject  of  Hinton  Charlotte 
still  refused  to  speak.  She  said  once,  and  only  once,  to  her 
friend  : 

"  We  have  parted,  we  have  most  absolutely  parted.  There 
is  no  use  now  looking  back  on  the  past ;  he  must  never  share 
my  disgrace.  Yes,  my  dear  and  beloved  father  has  repented 
nobly :  but  the  disgrace  remains.  He  must  never  share  it. 
He  sees  the  wisdom  of  this  himself,  so  we  will  not  speak  of 
him,  dear  Charlotte  ;  I  can  bear  it  best  so." 
.  This  little  speech  was  made  with  great  firmness ;  but 
there  was  a  strained  look  about  the  lips,  and  a  sorrow  about 
the  eyes  which  Mrs.  Home  understood  very  well.  She  must 
not  speak,  but  no  one  could  prevent  her  acting.  She  re 
solved  to  leave  no  stone  unturned  to  bring  these  two  to 
gether  again.  In  doing  this  she  would  act  for  the  good  of 
two  whom  she  loved,  for  Hinton  was  also  very  dear  to  her. 
She  could  never  forget  those  nights  when  he  sat  by  the  bed 
of  her  almost  dying  child.  She  could  never  forget  the 
prompt  interference  which  saved  that  child's  life.  She  had 
learned  enough  of  his  character,  during  those  few  weeks 
which  they  had  spent  together,  to  feel  sure  that  no  disgrace 
such  as  Charlotte  feared  would  influence  him  to  cause  her 
pain.  It  is  true  she  could  not  in  any  measure  account  for 
his  absence  and  his  silence  ;  but  she  was  quite  wise  enough 
and  quite  clever  enough  to  believe  that  both  could  be  satis 
factorily  accounted  for.  She  could,  however,  do  nothing 


246  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

without  seeing  Hinton.  How  could  she  see  him  ?  She  had 
written  to  his  chambers,  she  had  written  to  his  lodgings  ; 
from  both  addresses  had  the  letters  been  returned.  She 
thought  of  advertising.  She  lay  awake  at  night  trying  to  de 
vise  some  scheme.  At  last  one  night  she  had  a  dream ;  so 
far  curious,  in  that  it  conducted  her  to  the  desired  end.  She 
dreamt  that  Hinton  came  to  Waterloo  station,  not  to  remain 
in  London,  but  to  pass  through  to  another  part  of  England. 
There  was  nothing  more  in  her  dream  ;  nevertheless,  she  re 
solved  to  go  to  that  station  on  the  next  day.  Her  dream 
had  not  even  pointed  to  any  particular  hour.  She  looked  in 
Bradshaw,  saw  when  a  great  express  from  the  south  was 
due,  and  started  off  on  what  might  truly  be  called  a  wild- 
goose  chase. 

Nevertheless,  instinct,  if  nothing  higher,  had  guided 
Charlotte  Home  ;  for  the  first  person  she  saw  stepping  out 
of  a  carriage  of  this  very  train  was  Hinton.  She  saw  Hin 
ton,  he  also  saw  her. 

"  You  must  come  with  me,"  she  said,  going  up  to  him 
and  laying  her  hand  on  his  arm.  "  You  must  come  with  me, 
and  at  once,  for  God  has  sent  me  to  you." 

"  But  I  cannot,"  he  answered,  "  I  am  catching  another 
train  at  Euston.  I  am  going  on  special  business  to  Scot 
land.  It  is  important.  I  cannot  put  it  off.  I  am  ever  so 
sorry  ;  but  I  must  jump  into  a  cab  at  once."  He  held  out 
his  hand  as  he  spoke. 

Mrs.  Home  glanced  into  his  face.  His  face  was  changed  ; 
it  was  pale  and  worn.  There  was  a  hard  look  about  both 
eyes  and  mouth,  which  both  altered  and  considerably  spoiled 
his  expression. 

"  I  will  not  keep  you  if  you  still  wish  to  go,  after  hearing 
my  story,"  answered  Mrs.  Home ;  "  but  there  will  be  room 
for  two  in  your  hansom.  You  do  not  object  to  my  driving 
with  you  to  Euston  ?  " 

Hinton  could  not  say  he  objected  to  this,  though  in  his 
heart  he  felt  both  annoyed  and  surprised. 

As  they  were  driving  along.  Mrs.  Home  said, — 

"  Have  you  heard  anything  lately  of  Mr.  Harman  ?  " 

To  this  Hinton  replied,  "  I  have  not ;  and  pardon  me, 
Mr.  Harmon  does  not  interest  me." 

"  Ah ! "  said  Mrs.  Home,  "  he  interests  me  very  much. 
He — he  told  my  husband  a  strange  tale — a  tale  about  him 
self." 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND.  247 

"  Did  he  confess  his  guilt  ?  I  know  that  he  is  a  very 
sinful  man." 

"  He  has  been  a  great  sinner,  but  he  has  repented.  He 
has  confessed  that  early  and  terrible  sin  of  his  youth.  He 
has  not  only  confessed,  but  he  is  taking  steps  to  make  full 
reparation." 

"  Indeed  !  then  you  will  come  into  your  rights  ?  Let  me 
congratulate  you." 

"  You  knew  of  his  sin  ?  You  knew  what  his  sin  was  Mr. 
Hinton  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  knew." 

"  Charlotte  had  hoped  to  keep  that  disgrace  from  you." 

"  Ah !  " 

"  She  gave  you  another  reason  for  breaking  off  her  en 
gagement  ? " 

"  Yes,  a  weak  and  futile  one.  She  could  not  expect  me 
to  believe  it.  I  did  what  she  had  but  done  before  me.  I 
went  to  Somerset  House  and  saw  that  will  which  has  been 
so  greatly  abused." 

"  She  never  knew  that." 

"Pardon  me,  she  did." 

"  I  fear  I  must  be  rude  enough  to  contradict  you.  She 
said  most  distinctly  that  you  were  fully  satisfied  with  the 
reasons  she  had  given  for  breaking  off  the  engagement,  that 
perhaps  you  might  never  now  learn  what  her  father  had 
done." 

Hinton  looked  at  his  companion  in  some  perplexity. 

"  But  I  wrote  to  her,"  he  said.  "  I  wrote  a  letter  which, 
it  seemed  to  me,  any  woman  who  had  a  spark  even  of  kind 
ness  would  have  answered.  In  that  letter,  I  told  her  that  I 
held  her  to  her  promise  ;  that  I  knew  all ;  that  even  if  she 
did  not  write  to  me  I  would  call  and  try  to  see  her.  She 
never  replied  to  my  letter,  and  when,  after  waiting  for 
twenty-four  hours,  I  went  tf>  the  house,  she  absolutely  refused 
to  see  me." 

"  She  never  knew  you  called,"  answered  Mrs.  Home, 
"  and  she  never  got  your  letter." 

"  Good  heavens  !  how  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  I  know  her  too  well ;  but  I  will  ask  her  directly." 

Hinton  was  silent. 

After  a  short  pause,  Mrs.  Home  broke  out  passionately, — 

''  How  dare  you  insinuate  doubts  of  so  noble  a  creature  ?  " 

"  I  could  only  believe  facts." 

"  Has  a  letter  never  gone   astray  ?     Has  a  letter  never 


248  HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 

failed  to  reach  the  hands  it  was  meant  for  ?  Mr.  Hinton,  I 
am  ashamed  of  you/1 

"  If  you  can  prove  that  she  never  got  it  ?  " 

"  I  know  she  never  got  it.  She.  is  changed  ;  her  heart 
is  half  broken.  But  I  will  prove  it.  I  will  go  to  her  at  once. 
Are  you  still  going  to  Scotland  ?  " 

"  I  need  not  go  until  I  hear  from  you.  You  have  aston 
ished  me  greatly." 

"  Then  drive  to  my  house.  Ah  !  you  do  not  know  our 

new  address ;  it  is  ;  wait  for  me  there,  I  will  be  with 

you  in  an  hour  or  so." 


CHAPTER  LVII. 

JOHN. 

HINTON  went  to  Mrs.  Home's  house.  The  children  were 
out,  Mr.  Home  was  not  visible.  Anne,  now  converted  into  a 
neat  parlor-maid,  received  him  with  broad  grins  of  pleasure. 
She  ushered  him  into  the  pretty,  newly-furnished  drawing- 
room,  and  asked  him  to  wait  for  her  mistress. 

"  Missis  'ull  be  back  afore  long,"  she  said,  lingering  a 
little  to  readjust  the  blinds,  and  half  hoping,  half  expecting, 
Hinton  to  make  some  surprised  and  approving  remark  on 
the  changed  circumstances  of  the  Homes'  surroundings. 

He  made  none,  however;  and  Anne,  v.-ith  a  slight  sigh, 
left  him  alone.  When  she  did  so  he  rose  to  his  feet  and  be 
gan  to  pace  quickly  up  and  down  the  room.  After  a  time, 
half  an  hour  or  so,  he  pulled  out  his  watch.  Yes,  he  had  al 
ready  lost  that  express  to  the  north.  A  good  piece  of  busi 
ness  would  probably  be  also  lost.  But  what  matter !  beyond 
ascertaining  the  fact  that  he  had  missed  his  train,  he  did  not 
give  the  affair  another  thought.  To  tell  the  truth,  his  mind 
was  agitated,  his  heart  was  full ;  hope  once  more  peeped 
upon  the  horizon  of  his  being.  A  month  ago— for  it  vas 
quite  a  month  ago  now — he  had  received  as  sharp  and  cruel 
a  shock  as  falls  on  most  men.  Fortune,  love,  and  trust  had 
all  been  dashed  from  the  lips  which  were  already  so  close 
to  the  charmed  cup  that  its  very  flavor  was  apparent.  The 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


249 


cup  had  never  reached  the  lips  of  Hinton.  Fortune  was 
gone,  love  was  gone  ;  worst  of  all,  yes,  hardest  of  all,  trust 
was  gone.  The  ideal  he  had  worshipped  was  but  an  ideal. 
The  Charlotte  he  had  loved  was  unworthy.  She  had  re 
jected  him,  and  cruelly.  His  letter  was  unanswered.  He 
himself  was  refused  admittance.  Then  his  pride  had  risen 
in  revolt.  If  she  could  so  treat  him,  he  would  sue  no  longer. 
If  she  could  so  easily  give  him  up,  he  would  bow  to  her  de 
cision.  She  was  not  the  Charlotte  of  his  love  and  his  dream. 
But  what  matter!  Other  men  had  come  to  an  ideal  and 
found  it  but  a  clay  idol.  He  would  recover  :  he  would  not 
let  his  heart  break.  He  found,  however,  that  he  could  not 
stay  in  London.  An  uncle  of  his,  his  only  living  near  rela 
tion,  was  a  solicitor  in  the  south  of  England.  Hinton  went 
to  visit  his  uncle.  He  received  him  warmly  and  kindly.  He 
not  only  promised  him  work,  but  kept  his  word.  Hinton  took 
chambers  in  a  fashionable  part  of  the  town,  and  already  was 
not  idle.  But  he  was  a  changed  man.  That  shattered 
trust  was  making  his  spirit  very  hard.  The  cynical  part  of 
him  was  being  fostered.  Mrs.  Home,  when  she  looked  into 
his  face,  was  quite  right  in  saying  to  herself  that  his  ex 
pression  had  not  improved.  No~.v,  however,  again,  as  he 
paced  up  and  down,  soft  thoughts  were  visiting  him.  For 
what  doubts,  what  blessed  doubts  had  Mrs.  Home  not  insin 
uated  ?  How  irregularly  his  heart  beat ;  how  human  he  felt 
once  more  !  Ah  !  what  sound  was  that  ?  A  cab  had  drawn  up 
at  the  door.  Hinton  flew  to  the  window ;  he  saw  the  soft 
fawn  shade  of  a  lady's  dress,  he  could  not  see  the  lady.  Of 
course,  it  was  Mrs.  Home  returning.  What  news  did  she 
bring  ?  How  he  longed  to  fly  to  meet  her !  He  did  not 
do  so,  however ;  his  feet  felt  leaden  weighted.  He  leant 
against  the  window,  with  his  back  to  the  door.  His 
heart  beat  harder  and  harder  :  he  clenched  his  hands  hard. 
There  was  a  quick  step  running  up  the  stairs,  a  quick  and 
springing  step.  The  drawing-room  door  was  opened  and 
then  shut.  He  heard  the  rustle  of  soft  drapery,  then  a  hand 
was  laid  on  his  arm.  The  touch  of  that  hand  made  him 
tremble  violently.  He  turned  his  head,  and — not  Charlotte 
Home — but  his  Charlotte,  beautiful  and  true,  stood  by  his 
side.  Their  eyes  met. 

"  John  !  "  she  said. 

"  My  own,  my  darling  !  "  he  answered. 

In  an  instant  they  were  clasped  in  each  other's  arms. 


250 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


That  swift  glance,  which  each  had  given  the  other,  had  told 

all. 

******* 

"  John,  I  never  got  your  letter." 

"  No  ! " 

"  John,  you  doubted  me." 

"  I  did,  I  confess  it ;  I  confess  it  bitterly.  But  not  now, 
not  after  one  glance  into  your  eyes." 

"  John,  what  did  you  say  in  that  letter  ? " 

"  That  I  held  you  to  your  sacred  promise  ;  that  I  refused 
to  give  you  up." 

"  But — but — you  did  not  know  my  true  reason.  You  did 
not  know  why — why " 

"  Yes,  I  knew  all.  Before  I  wrote  that  letter  I  went  to 
Somerset  house.  I  read  your  grandfather's  will." 

"  Ah !  did  you — did  you  indeed  ?  Oh !  what  a  dreadful 
time  I  have  gone  through." 

"  Yes,  but  it  is  over  now.  Mrs.  Home  told  me  how  your 
father  had  repented.  The  sin  is  forgiven.  The  agony  is 
past.  What  God  forgets  don't  let  us  remember.  Lottie, 
cease  to  think  of  it.  It  is  at  an  end,  and  so  are  our  troubles. 
I  am  with  you  again.  Oh !  how  nearly  I  had  lost  you." 

Charlotte's  head  was  on  her  lover's  shoulder.  His  arm 
was  round  her.  Charlotte,  I  repeat  what  I  said  in  that  let 
ter  which  never  reached  you.  I  refuse  to  absolve  you  from 
your  promise.  I  refuse  to  give  you  up.  Do  you  hear  ?  I 
refuse  to  give  you  up." 

"  But,  John,  I  am  poor  now." 

"  Poor  or  rich,  you  are  yourself,  and  you  are  mine.  Char 
lotte,  do  you  hear  me  ?  If  you  hear  me  answer  me.  Tell 
me  that  you  are  mine." 

"  I  am  yours,  John  "  she  said  simply,  and  she  raised  her 
lips  to  kiss  him. 


CHAPTER  LVIII. 

BRIDE  AND  BRIDEGROOM. 


A  MONTH  after — just  one  month  after,  there  was  a  very 
quiet  wedding ;  a  wedding  performed  in  the  little  church  at 
Kentish  Town.  The  ceremony  was  thought  by  the  few  who 

\vitne?se  1  it  V>  be,  even  for  that  obscure  part,  a  very  poor 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


25* 


one.  There  were  no  bridesmaids,  or  white  dresses,  or.  in 
deed,  white  favors  in  any  form.  The  bride  wore  the  plainest 
gray  travelling  suit.  She  was  given  away  by  her  gray-headed 
father ;  Charlotte  Home  stood  close  behind  her ;  Mr.  Home 
married  the  couple,  and  Uncle  Sandy  acted  as  best  man. 
Surely  no  tamer  ending  could  come  to  what  was  once  meant 
to  be  such  a  brilliant  affair.  Immediately  after  the  cere 
mony,  the  bride  and  bridegroom  went  away  for  two  days  and 
Mrs.  Home  went  back  to  Prince's  Gate  with  Mr.  Harman, 
for  she  had  promised  Charlotte  to  take  care  of  her  father  un 
til  her  return. 

Many  changes  were  contemplated.  The  grand  house  in 
Prince's  gate  was  to  be  given  up,  and  the  Hintons  were  to 
live  in  that  large  southern  town  where  Hinton  was  already 
obtaining  a  young  barrister's  great  ambition — briefs.  Mr. 
Harman,  while  he  lived,  was  to  find  his  home  with  his  son 
and  daughter. 

Mr.  Harman  was  now  a  peaceful  and  happy  man,  and  so 
improved  was  his  health — so  had  the  state  of  his  mind  af 
fected  his  body,  that  though  he  could  never  hope  for  cure  of 
his  malady,  yet  Sir  George  Anderson  assured  him  that  with 
care  he  might  live  for  a  very  much  longer  time  than  he  had 
thought  possible  a  few  months  before.  Thus  death  stood 
back,  not  altogether  thrust  aside,  but  biding  its  time. 

On  the  morning  of  Charlotte's  wedding-day  there  arrived 
a  letter  from  Jasper  • 

"  So  you  have  told  all  ?  "  he  said  to  his  brother.  "  Well, 
be  it  so.  From  the  time  I  knew  the  other  trustee  was  not 
dead  and  had  reached  England,  I  felt  that  discovery  was  at 
hand.  No,  thank  you ;  I  sha>ll  never  come  back  to  England. 
If  you  can  bear  poverty  and  public  disgrace,  I  cannot.  I 
have  some  savings  of  my  own,  and  on  these  I  can  live  during 
my  remaining  days.  Good-bye — we  shall  never  meet  again 
on  earth  !  I  repent,  do  you  say,  of  my  share  ?  Yes,  the  bus 
iness  turned  out  badly  in  the  end.  What  a  heap  of  money 
those  Homes  will  come  in  for  !  Stolen  goods  don't  prosper 
with  a  man  !  So  it  seems.  Well,  I  shall  stay  out  of  England." 

Jasper  was  true  to  his  word.  Not  one  of  those  who 
knew  him  in  this  tale  ever  heard  of  him  again. 

Yes,  the  Homes  were  now  very  rich ;  but  both  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Home  were  faithful  stewards  of  what  was  lent  them 
from  the  Lord.  Nor  did  the  Hintons  miss  what  was  taken 
from  them.  It  is  surely  enough  to  say  of  Charlotte  and  her 
husband  that  they  were  very  happy. 


252 


HOW  IT  ALL  CAME  ROUND. 


But  as  sin,  however  repented  of,  must  yet  reap  its  own  re 
ward,  so  in  this  instance  the  great  house  of  Harman  Brothers 
ceased  to  exist.  To  pay  that  unfulfilled  trust  the  business 
had  to  be  sold.  It  passed  into  the  hands  of  strangers,  and 
was  continued  under  another  name.  No  one  now  remembers 
even  its  existence. 


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